Why should the mist rise from the stream.
A lyric on its bars!
And steal from every wave the gleam,
Begot by lover stars.

O see the moon ascend the sky!
The vapour tremble, burn,
A chrysoprase enamoured lie,
Above transfigured fern.

On tree and stream, a glory shed,
That jewels wave and leaf,
For sorrow is with beauty wed,
And joy is born of grief.