Water lilies float down a silent stream;
The watching swamphens and bank willows dream,
At the passing of a fragrant blessing,
Brought to them by a soft wind caressing.
A nestling awakes, – sighs in treetops high.
The morning star almost ceases to spy.
A sweet silence breathes among the heather,
A stillness in leaves gathered together.
The twilight branches a glory capture,
Held in wondrous suspense, in still rapture.
In them a mystery is unravelled;
As if I had to all the stars travelled,
And listened to old sea shells still unheard.
They echo here in the song of a bird
The many untold secrets they contain,
That’s better than the fall of summer rain
In a lost wood, where birds their sweet songs rang,
And the angels with pipes tenderly sang.
Here I walk in a soft rain awaking;
My soul, under bright clouds’ tender weeping;
My soul, soft with the dew, – my soul dripping,
One with teardrops on leafed trees, glistening;
One with the leaves on which they are singing;
One with each branch where the leaves are sighing;
One with the free air, that’s all pervading.
And I gaze to where sunlight is breaking;
High treetops are with the sky, lovemaking,
And my heart’s there, one with bright clouds, sailing.