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SWITZERLAND.
In the void air, towards thee,
My stretched arms are cast;
But a sea rolls between us,—
Our different past!
To the lips, ah! of others
Those lips have been prest,
And others, ere I was,
Were strained to that breast.
Far, far from each other
Our spirits have grown.
And what heart knows another?
Ah! who knows his own?
Blow, ye winds! lift me with you!
I come to the wild.
Fold closely, O Nature!
Thine arms round thy child.
To thee only God granted
A heart ever new,—
To all always open,
To all always true.
Ah! calm me, restore me;
And dry up my tears
On thy high mountain platforms,
Where morn first appears;
Where the white mists, forever,
Are spread and upfurled,—
In the stir of the forces
Whence issued the world.
