IX
It is now the dewy season,
The season of the happy meetings of love,
The season of the quenching of all fires of pain.
To me everything seems to be dew-wet;
From the blue of heaven the dew is falling soft;
It is the dew of deep, deep unions;
And wonder and worship is in the eyes.
The separated ones shall meet!
It is the season of the cooling dew!
The dew is falling everywhere,
And wet is every rose.
The gentle breath of heaven blows.