Song of love

Past the spruces on the hill, past the alders by the brook,

your image, beloved, ever follows me.

It smiles now with wistful nostalgia, it smiles now with peace,

in the friendly glow of the moon.

The rosebushes in the garden are ruffled

by the lovely figure in the gleam of early morning;

She floats down from the blossoming, purple mountains,

alone like a heavenly shaddow.

Often, in a dream, like the fairest of fairies

on a golden throne, I have seen you radiant.

Often I have glimpsed you on the heights of Olympus,

delighted as Hebe among the Gods.

From the depths and from the heights to me,

your heavenly name echoes like the music of the spheres.

I fancy the scent of blossoms wafting about,

thrilled by your melodious voice.

In the holy midnight hour, my spirit explores

the ethereal field, full of premonition.

Beloved! yonder beckons a land where a man

is united again eternally with his sweetheart.

Joy vanishes, sorrow does not linger;

the years rush past in the stream of time;

the sun will die and the earth will fade:

but love must exist forever!