Behind the night’s dark mantle. And should the morning nigh
Need crimson, shed my heart’s blood quickly, freely, let it dye
The new-born light with th’ glory of its ensanguined hue.
My dreams when yet were ling’ring my childhood’s careless years.
My dreams, my hopes, when vigor pulsed in my youthful heart,
Were that one day, gem of the East, thine eyes, undimmed with tears,
Might darkly glow, that I might see unwrinkled, free from fears,
Thy lofty brow wherefrom for aye all blushes should depart.
Hail unto thee, dreams of my life! My dying soul doth cry
All hail to thee! And ye I hail, my aspirations deep