Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Hatem

Locks of brown, still bind your captive In the circle of her face! I, beloved sinuous tresses, Naught possess that's worth your grace— But a heart whose love enduring Swells in youthful fervor yet: Snow and mists envelop Etna, Making men the fire forget. Yonder mountain's pride so stately Thou dost shame like dawn's red glow; And its spell once more bids Hatem Thrill of spring and summer know. Once more fill the glass, the flagon! Let me drink to my desire. If she find a heap of ashes, Say, "He perished in her fire!"