Fling wide, my Emily, the doors of the High Ones
And fill with garlands the temples of clouds
And the breathing entrails of beasts. Let not
This sad soul, in isolation, surround your altars;
Let fellow hearts over land beloved
Of gentle green and hilly region, dear to my heavenly god,
Raise them to your benignant bosom. Let black
Envy get her fill, turning her malicious breast elsewhere.
Do we not all live under one sky?
It happened as I wandered idly at sunset
In spacious enclosure, for my lyre lay limp
With strings slack. No melody, no bird of song
Came comfortably to my bed; lay aside my lyre.
Small to the eye but huge to the sense,
Marvellous in measure, my vision fain to cry.
So mighty the deception that makes
The small figure large! Rejoicing from the heart,
With you at my gaze, I happily drink nectar!
Hurt without knowing and refrain I beg.
My wings fly, and loss for all time will be my wound.