The Awakening

Arise, my heart! The lark is already singing,

shaking its wings in the sunlight.

Cast off sleep, my heart, for the violet

is raising to God the incense of its awakening.

Each living, well-rested flower

opens in turn its eyes to see

in its chalice a dewdrop,

pearl of a day, its mirror.

We sense in the pure air that the angel of the roses

has passed in the night to bless the flowers.

All of them have opened for him,

who comes from on high to refresh their colours.

So arise! Since the lark is already singing,

shaking its wings in the sunlight,

nothing remains asleep, my heart, for the violet

is raising to God the incense of its awakening.