Ganymede
Like the rising sun, my beloved spring,
you make all the world glow. With thousand fold
the joy of love, you press your warmth
against my heart. A sacred touch your beauty only
knows.
Oh, that I could hold you in these arms.
Across your breast I stretch myself,
and your flowers, your brush, you push into my heart.
Your soft wind cools the burning of my chest,
as the nightingale calls me from the misted valley.
Love, I am coming.
I am coming, Love, but to where?
Up, look above!
It floats the clouds
into the valley – the clouds bow, longingly, to love!
Take me, take me in your arms,
wrap me tightly in your weeds,
O all loving mother, I am yours.
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