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My neighbour, none can e'er deny, Is a most beauteous maid; Her shop is ever in mine eye, When working at my trade. To ring and chain I hammer then The wire of gold assay'd, And think the while: "For Kate, oh when Will such a ring be made?" And when she takes her shutters down, Her shop at once invade, To buy and haggle, all the town, For all that's there displayd. I file, and maybe overfile The wire of gold assay'd; My master grumbles all the while,-- Her shop the mischief made. To ply her wheel she straight begins, When not engaged in trade; I know full well for what she spins,-- 'Tis hope guides that dear maid. Her leg, while her small foot treads on, Is in my mind portray'd; Her garter I recall anon,-- I gave it that dear maid. Then to her lips the finest thread Is by her hand convey'd. Were I there only in its stead, How I would kiss the maid! Johann Wolfgang von Goethe 1808 |
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