Auf Wiedersehen

James Russell Lowell (1819–1891)

Summer

THE LITTLE gate was reached at last,

Half hid in lilacs down the lane;

She pushed it wide, and, as she past,

A wistful look she backward cast,

And said,—“Auf wiedersehen!”

With hand on latch, a vision white

Lingered reluctant, and again

Half doubting if she did aright,

Soft as the dews that fell that night,

She said,—“Auf wiedersehen!”

The lamp’s clear gleam flits up the stair;

I linger in delicious pain;

Ah, in that chamber, whose rich air

To breathe in thought I scarcely dare,

Thinks she,—“Auf wiedersehen!”

’T is thirteen years; once more I press

The turf that silences the lane;

I hear the rustle of her dress,

I smell the lilacs, and—ah, yes,

I hear,—“Auf wiedersehen!”

Sweet piece of bashful maiden art!

The English words had seemed too fain,

But these—they drew us heart to heart,

Yet held us tenderly apart;

She said,—“Auf wiedersehen!”