I send a sign of love; the shower sends
The breeze before it, whispering, "He is coming!"
And the glad field her leaves and flowers bends.
And hushes all her myriad insects' humming.
I send a sign of love; the morning sends
A rosy cloud, his mounted messenger;
And the glad earth in ecstacy attends,
Sure now her love himself will come to her.
O fairer than the field, than the whole earth,
Would that thy lover's coming in thy sight
Were as the rain-cloud to a land of dearth.
Were as the morning to a world of night!
