Defines the sentiment for every art,
And dwells within the glad or weary heart,
To comfort it with wondrous ecstasy.
Through her alone I woke to life the truest,
Drinking the proffered nectar of her breast,
And dared to lift my face with joy the newest.
Yet was my highest sense with sleep oppressed.
Till angel-like thou, loved one, near me flewest.
And, kindling in thy look, I found the rest.