2

And almost a girl it was and came forth

from this glad unity of song and lyre

and shone brightly through her springtime veils

and made herself a bed within my ear.

And slept in me. And all things were her sleep.

The trees I’d always marveled at, these

palpable distances, the deep-felt meadows,

and an entire life’s astonishments.

She slept the world. Singing god, how did you

so perfect her that she never once

had need to be awake? Look, she arose and slept.

Where is her death? Ah, will you introduce

that theme before your song expires? —

I can feel her drifting off … to where?… A girl almost …