Bright as the light that cleaves through the night
In the evening's fading firey field,
You come to me, with a hawks grace.
Glimmering, august angel.
For you, I gild my tongue,
so my words may shine, though I fear,
not nearly as bright, as the glow,
of your unfettered majesty.

Were I not already unclothed
I would tear through each article,
so as to expose to you,
that which you may claim, and partake.
With a pulsing pleasure, for each dazzling deed
In the most sprightly shower of starlight,
I wait for you to make your claim.

Uncloak here before me
remove that golden robe,
and reveal your glory, before these eyes
Neither slave or mistress should you be,
As the lions who have fought to a standstill,
concede, let us proceed in blessed equality.
And bed in the short cut grass, beneath the linden.

You, whose mouth is a temple,
With seven seals of satisfaction, concealed inside.
Stay with me, while I am floating in this hope.
Like a songbird released from captivity,
I wish that I could pour your praises from my lips,
Till my tongue is worn and weary...
and the light no longer lingers,
in the lantern of my eyes.