Hölderlin Ode Des Morgens (In the Morning)

Translated by Steven J. Willett

Drawing by Louise Keller, 1842

From dew the grass is glistening; more agilely
 The stream awakened rushes; the beech inclines
    Her slender head and in the leafage
       Rustles and shimmers; and all the hazy

 Cloud banks such crimson flames are now grazing them,

 Prophetic ones, they flutter without a sound;
    Like breakers on the shore, they billow

       Higher and higher the Variable. 

 Come now, o come, and rush not so swift for me,
 You golden day, to summits of heaven gone!

     More open flies, more trusting you my
        Eye, o you joyous one! then so long you

 In your own beauty youthfully gaze and still
 Not glamorous, not proud you’ve become for me;
    You always might rush forward, could I,

       Heavenly wanderer, with you!—yet smile

 At joyful arrogance you, as he very might
 Resemble even you; bless for me genial friend

    My mortal deeds and brighten once more
       Kind one! today on my quiet pathway.
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