Though the sun gleams fitfully;
Far and wide the mountain summits
Swim above the misty sea.

Had I seven-league boots for travel,
Like the fleeting winds I'd rove
Over valley, rock, and river,
To the home of her I love.

From the bed where now she's sleeping
Soft the curtain I would slip;
Softly kiss her childlike forehead,
Kiss the ruby of her lip.

Yet more softly would I whisper
In the little lily ear,
"Think in dreams we still are loving,
Think I never lost thee, dear."

Meanwhile my longing for breakfast was also great, and, after paying a
few compliments to my ladies, I hastened down to drink coffee in the
warm public room. It was full time, for all within me was as sober and
as sombre as in the St. Stephen's Church at Goslar. But with the Arabian
beverage, the warm Orient thrilled through my limbs, Eastern roses
breathed forth their perfumes, sweet bulbul songs resounded, the
students were changed to camels, the Brocken housemaids, with their
Congreverocket-glances, became _houris_, the Philistine noses, minarets,
etc.

But the book which lay near me, though full of nonsense, was not the