Here are fruit, flowers, branches, foliage,
Here, too, my heart, which you alone command.
Oh, tear it not asunder with white hands,
But, with your fine eyes, bless my pilgrimage.

I come all covered still with morning dew,
Which passing winds have turned cold on my face.
At you feet let my tiredness rest in grace,
Dream of dear moments which will make it new.

Oh let my head lie still on your young breast.
It echoes, even now, with your last kiss.
After the sweet storm grant it peace like this,
And let me sleep a moment since you rest.

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