The Word
Wonder or dream from distant land
I carried to my country's strand
And waited till the twilit norn
Had found the name within her bourn—
Then I could grasp it close and strong
It blooms and shines now the front along...
Once I returned from happy sail,
I had a prize so rich and frail,
She sought for long and tidings told:
"No like of this these depths enfold."
And straight it vanished from my hand,
The treasure never graced my land...
So I renounced and sadly see:
Where word breaks off no thing may be.
— Stefan George
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