To the Moon

Groves and vales you fill once more

With your soft mist-shine,

Loosing, as so long before,

All this soul of mine;

Over all my fields you send

Your assuaging glance,

Like the mild eye of a friend

On my life’s forechance.

Every echo my heart feels

Wakes times ill and good;

I, between old woes and weals,

Roam in solitude.

Run, dear river, ever run!

Joy will never stay,

Jests and kisses, faith too, spun

Murmuring away.

Once I held what after all

Most is to be prized!

—Grief which, unforgettable,

Never is excised.

Rush, stream, down the vale along,

Without rest or ease;

Rushing, whisper to my song

Riven melodies,

*

When you in the winter night

Raging overflow,

Or around the young buds bright

Gush with springtime’s glow.

Happy he who, grudgeless, best

Locks the world away,

Holds one dear friend to his breast,

With him to enjoy

What, to humankind unknown

Or not brought to light,

Through heart’s labyrinth alone

Wanders in the night.

1777