Love grasps my heart in a net Like the strong roots of a flower; So surely his root is set In my spirit, to hold me with power. Yet to--night, O forgive me, Dear! I am troubled, my heart trembles. There flutters within me a fear That Love in vain dissembles. O is it that even our trust, So strongly planted, How steadfast soever, must By its own fear be haunted? As the heart must beat in the breast If the pulse to its life be true, Love must tremble and throb in his nest To be sure of his life--blood anew?