Holy spirits, you walk up there
in the light, on soft earth.
Shining god-like breezes
Like the stamen inside a flower
The steeple stands in lovely blue
And the day unfolds around its needle;
The flock of swallows that circles the steeple
With its yellow pears
And wild roses everywhere
The shore hangs into the lake,
O gracious swans,
Round about the city rests. The illuminated streets grow
Quiet, and coaches rush along, adorned with torches.
Men go home to rest, filled with the day's pleasures;
Busy minds weigh up profit and loss contentedly
Is near, and hard to grasp.
But where there is danger,
A rescuing element grows as well.
The fruits are ripe, dipped in fire,
Cooked and sampled on earth. And there's a law,
That things crawl off in the manner of snakes,
The northeast blows,
my favorite among winds,
since it promises fiery spirit
and a good voyage to mariners.
Grant me just one summer, powerful ones,
And just one autumn for ripe songs,
That my heart, filled with that sweet
Music, may more willingly die within me.
Isn't my heart holy, more full of life's beauty,
since I fell in love? Why did you like me more
when I was prouder and wilder, more full