Edda, whispered the monarch, what is the innermost longing
In the bosom that loves? What his ineffable grief?
Say it, for him would we comfort, the power is ours, and noble
Be the time when thou art the joy of heaven again.--
"Were the times not so cold and morose, if were united
Future with Present, and both with the holy Past time;
Were the Spring linked to Autumn, and the Summer to Winter,
Were into serious grace childhood with silver age fused;
Then, O spouse of my heart, would dry up the fountain of sorrow,
Every deep cherished wish would be secured to the soul."