O God! a tear that is heart-enkindling,
Passionful, wrung forth by pain, peace-consuming, 1650
May I sow in the garden, and may it grow into a fire
That washes away the fire-brand from the tulip’s robe!
My heart is with yestereve, my eye is on to-morrow:
Amidst the company I am alone.
“Every one fancies he is my friend, 1655
But my secret thoughts have not escaped from my heart.”
Oh, where in the wide world is my comrade?
I am the Bush of Sinai: where is my Moses?