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.
