O beautiful, O meekly bustling hope!
You nobly do not scorn the grievers' home;
And, gladly serving, wait as mortals roam
Amidst this life through heaven's telescope.
Where are you, then? Lived I've short days, and yet
My evening breath's gone cold. Like shadows I
Am silent, songless: so does heart's regret
Aslumber in my quaking bosom lie.
In greenest vale, where freshest spring's soft spray
Roars daily down from mountain peaks, where blooms
Most dulcet timelessness on autumn day,
This silence, O most beautiful, exhumes
My urge to seek you out; if midnight then
Were flooding copses with some unseen life
And o'er me ever-frozen flowers bend,
Ashine swim blooming stars with lights so rife.
O, daughter of the ether, come out now
Your father's garden, spirit of the earth.
If you cannot, with fear you should me girth,
Yet scare my heart with other fears somehow.