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 …