| Alive, as the wind-harp |
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Alive, as the wind-harp, how lightly so-ever
If wooed by the Zephyr, to music will quiver, Is woman to hope and to fear; Ah, tender one! still at the shadow of grieving, How quiver the chords - how thy bosom is heaving - How trembles thy glance through the tear! | ||
| Friedrich Schiller, 1796 | ||