Goethe in summer

I walked in the woods,

Alone, to see

That nothing I sought,

Was ahead of me.

Saw a flower there,

In the shadow-light,

Like a star it shone,

Or an eye so bright.

I would pluck it now,

But it whispered low:

Should I be broken

To fade and grow?

I brought it home

To a garden plot,

To a quiet home,

And it blossomed not.