Whence every longing stormfully outflows,
And where again, though broken and dispersed,
Each longing calmly mingles into one.
Ye know me not, ye saw me not becoming.--
Who witnessed me upon that happy eve,
When, a night-wanderer yet, I found at length
For the first time myself? Then flowed there not
A shudder of sweet rapture over you?
Entirely hid in honey-cups I lay;
I breathed a fragrance, calmly waved the flowers