  As with splendour of morning Around me thou flamest, O Spring time, my lover, With a thousand delights and desires; To my heart comes thronging The sacred sense Of thy glow everlasting, O infinite beauty! Would I might seize thee In these my arms! Ah! on thy bosom I lie sore yearning; Thy flowers, thy grasses, Press close to my heart; Fresh breeze of the morn Thy coolest the burning Thirst of my breast. With love the nightingale Calls to me from the misty valley! I come, I am coming! Whither? Ah, whither? Upward! Upward the urge is! Lower the clouds come drifting, They stoop to the longing of love. For me! for me! Upwards! Embracing, embraced! Upwards, even to the bosom Of thee all-loving, my Father! |
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