Wandering

Come and briskly tramp to the unknown land!

Severed, alas! severed is many a true pledge.

You, my native shrines, where I often lay in prayer,

You trees, ah, you hills - oh look at me and bless me!

The wide world is still sleeping: not even a bird is awake in the grove,

but I am not forsaken - but I am not alone,

for, ah! upon my heart I wear her true pledge.

I feel it, and in my mind Earth and Heaven are my close kin.