A breath of roses in the wind doth seize on me. Glory and life to my heart! I spring again, eternal.—A breath of roses, a murmur of bees, make my soul divine, set my heart at ease. Beauteous as Saint Michael, spring descends from the clouds, places a foot on earth, another, and is here. The aerial host of blossoms burgeons forth, in the light of her sword, unsheathed from the sun. Glory and life to my heart! I spring again, eternal. A breath of roses, a murmur of bees, and that vision alight above the trees, make my soul divine, set my heart at ease. The curtains of springtime unroll in the heavens; see wafted down the many flights of swallows! And my soul is divine, my heart is at ease: a breath of roses in the wind doth on me seize. Spring has lifted her sword of light. At heaven's onslaught the blossoms issue forth! Lying on the new, pale grass, kingly and unconcerned, I behold the conquest! Glory and life to my heart! My soul is eternal. A breath of roses in the wind doth on me seize. A breath of roses, a murmur of bees, give me the soul of a god.—My heart is at ease! |