At the first Sound the Golden Sun arises from the Deep,
And shakes his awful hair.
The Eccho wakes the moon to unbind her silver locks.
The golden Sun bears on my song,
And nine bright spheres of harmony rise round the fiery king.
The joy of woman is the Death of her most best beloved
Who dies for Love of her
In torments of fierce jealousy & pangs of adoration.
The Lovers’ night bears on my song
And the nine Spheres rejoice beneath my powerful control!.
They sing unceasing to the notes of my immortal hand,
The solemn silent moon
Reverberates the long harmony upon my limbs.
The birds & beasts rejoice & play.
And every one seeks for his mate to prove his inmost joy.
Furious & terrible they sport & rend the nether deep;
The deep lifts up his rugged head
And, lost in infinite hovering wings, vanishes with a cry. The fading cry is ever dying.
The living voice is ever living in its inmost joy.
Arise, you little glancing wings & sing your infant joy,
Arise & drink your bliss!
For every thing that lives is holy; for the source of life Descends to be a weeping babe;
For the Earthworm renews the moisture of the sandy plain.
Now my left hand I stretch to Earth beneath,
And strike the terrible string.
I wake sweet joy in dens of sorrow, & I plant a smile
In forests of affliction.
And wake the bubbling springs of life in regions of dark death.
O, I am weary! lay thine hand upon me, or I faint.
I faint beneath these beams of thine,
For thou hast touched my five senses & they answer’d thee.
Now I am nothing, & I sink
And on the bed of solemn sleep till thou awakest me.