The great bright star is not yet awake,
Still a heavenly light has lit up the sleeping earth.
A brisk wind ruffles the fresh spring leafage in mirth,
And the dawn chorus proclaims the daybreak.

The twilit woodland paths are in blossoms drest,
O, the mild wild dove still broods at rest!
The virgin flowers in the dell joyfully their heads nod
As the honey-hoarding tribes are not arrived to suck and hoard.

Dewy are the fields of green corn,
A thin cloak of mist clothes the red cherries,
Mirroring the rich palm trees
Silently the slow stream runs on.

Hark! The grey hills yonder
Laughs the Morn! Don't you hear?
Behold, the silvery east! A blessed day foretold!
O romantic Artist, how beautifully You adorned the dawn!
My blithe soul wishes to jump out of its flashy mold!

O bountiful God, mysteriously lovely is Your art—
Cannot my half-wise brain understand—
But can only be felt by the heart.