Take, then, these songs

Take, then, these songs,

That I to you, beloved, sang,

Sing them again in the evenings

To the sweet sounds of the lute!

When the red twilight then moves

toward the calm, blue lake,

And the last ray dies

behind that hilltop;

And you sing, what I have sung,

What I, from my full heart,

Artlessly have sounded,

Only aware of its longings.

For before these songs yields,

What separates us so far,

And a loving heart reaches

For what a loving heart has consecrated.