O let me be like the gathered flower that smells the sweeter, and like the new-mown grass!
O I am happy to think that there is not one of my many sufferings but had its source in you,
And that now I can breathe them back to you, like a perfume, O my master!
The King: O Pity with hands transpierced!
Sweet as the last of the sun!
Happy is he who can take this rapture in his arms and kiss it on the softness of its cheek!
I am overjoyed to see you, Benediction!
As the supreme sun
Dyes golden the saliva on the lips and the tears in the eyes and the dew in its rose-leaf cradle,
And makes a multitude happy in the mist....