O keeper of the spring, my soul is parched and dry—What harm if you should quench my breath, my sigh?
The heartbeat surged—a heart consumed with yearning soreToward meadows, roses, and the myrtle evermore.
I roam the world forever with my spirit free,I see the breeze as some compassionate soul to me.
It bends to me without a stingy, fearful heart,It gives life's bounty with a just and generous art.
O heart, enough of this! Had I but won its grace,I would become the happiest, most envied of my race!
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