Like roses the bright dream did pass, 
    On swift, noiseless footsteps away; 
Like glistening dew on the grass, 
    Dissolving beneath the sun’s ray. 

Like voice of the lark that doth soar, 
    Through the golden haze of the dawn; 
You hear it and bend to adore, 
    Just hear it and then it is gone. 

The lark on his swift, flashing wings, 
   Keeps pace with the flowers in their flight; 
And that’s why when soaring he sings, 
   And passes so swiftly from sight. 

I slept, and a vision did see, 
   Of eyes that were tender and blue; 
I awoke to know that for me
    The vision may never come true. 

The lark soars no more in the skies, 
    He’s gone with the roses and dew; 
The face with the soft tender eyes, 
    Comes never to gladden my view. 

My memory holds images fair, 
   Of all these beautiful things; 
Which I will be seeking somewhere, 
   When my soul, as lark, findeth wings.

Once you were always calling me,
Calling me when I could not answer,
Urging me where I could not follow—
So that I wished I had been born without desire,
As a stone.

But now many days you have left me.
And in the silence I have learned your meaning.

For a part of me is gone when you are gone;
I am less
And the world is less.

O let me have my longing back again!
Now gladly I will bear it;
Gladly I will hold it to me,
Though without release;
Always.

For what would be the pride of the sun itself
With its light gone?
O kindle me again, desire.
Return to me.
Return.