Itself for her, her in itself reveres,
For her rejoices in its lasting power,

Conscious alone, when she herself appears;
Feels itself freer in so sweet a thrall,
And only beats to give her thanks in all.

The power of loving, and all yearning sighs

For love responsive were effaced and drown’d;
While longing hope for joyous enterprise

Was form’d, and rapid action straightway found;
If love can e’er a loving one inspire,
Most lovingly it gave me now its fire;

And ’twas through her!—­an inward sorrow lay

On soul and body, heavily oppress’d;
To mournful phantoms was my sight a prey,

In the drear void of a sad tortured breast;
Now on the well-known threshold Hope hath smil’d,
Herself appeareth in the sunlight mild.

Unto the peace of God, which, as we read,

Blesseth us more than reason e’er bath done,
Love’s happy peace would I compare indeed,

When in the presence of the dearest one. 
There rests the heart, and there that sweetest thought,
The thought of being hers, is check’d by nought.

In the pure bosom doth a yearning float,

Unto a holier, purer, unknown Being
Its grateful aspiration to devote,

The Ever-Nameless then unriddled seeing;
We call it:  piety!—­such blest delight
I feel a share in, when before her sight.

Before her sight, as ’neath the sun’s hot ray,

Before her breath, as ’neath the spring’s soft wind,
In its deep wintry cavern melts away

Self-love, so long in icy chains confin’d;
No selfishness and no self-will are nigh,
For at her advent they were forced to fly.

It seems as though she said:  “As hours pass by

They spread before us life with kindly plan;
Small knowledge did the yesterday supply,

To know the morrow is conceal’d from man;
And if the thought of evening made me start,
The sun at setting gladden’d straight my heart.

“Act, then, as I, and look, with joyous mind,

The moment in the face; nor linger thou! 
Meet it with speed, so fraught with life, so kind

In action, and in love so radiant now;
Let all things be where thou art, childlike ever,
Thus thoult be all, thus, thou’lt be vanquish’d never.”

Thou speakest well, methought, for as thy guide

The moment’s favour did a god assign,
And each one feels himself when by thy side,

Fate’s fav’rite in a moment so divine;
I tremble at thy look that bids me go,
Why should I care such wisdom vast to know?

Now am I far!  And what would best befit

The present minute?  I could scarcely tell;
Full many a rich possession offers it,

These but offend, and I would fain repel. 
Yearnings unquenchable still drive me on,
All counsel, save unbounded tears, is gone.