With shame took to flight.Is't hope? Do I wander?Ye rocks and trees yonder,
Bright and clear he added then the heavens,And the blue-tinged mountains far and farther,So that I, as though newborn, enrapturedGazed on, now the painter, now the picture.
Though I can forget her ne'er,Yet my mind is free from care,
And in his magic fetters gladly lies;E'en to the highest bath he winged his flight,
Dazzling and beauteous art thou,And flowers, and moon, and the planetsHomage pay, Sun, but to thee.
Not vainly did'st thou bless mine eyes with light;For in my blood glad aspirations swell,
Happy aloneIs the soul that doth love!
And bid them come each day;Then each one brought his tools
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