The Lost Love
Ah! when shall I, my glory,1.
Discern thy light in radiance shining,
Thy presence illusory,
To bring me sweet release from grief and pining?
When shall I see thine eyes, enchanting rapture,
And yield thee mine, as tender capture?
When will thy voice awaken1.
Mine ears with thrilling accents from their sadness,
And I, enthralled, o’ertaken3.
By the floods of its ineffable gladness,
Be swept away in ecstasy, and after
The marvel wanes, hasten to thee with laughter?
When will thy light effulgent1.
Reclothe with roseate glamour all my being?
And when shall I, indulgent,
The anguish of my sighs exhaled and fleeing,
No more bemoan the pangs of my past sorrow?
When thou shalt come, and glorify the morrow!
Come then, my soul’s dear treasure,
Since fast through weariness my life is fading,
And absence without measure,
Come then, lest, heeding not my soft persuading,
Thou wound my love; e’en yet, despite mine anger,
With tears of hope I will refresh my languor!
Trans. Peter H. Goldsmith