The mysterious spring was still enjoying itself,
About the mountains the revealing wind was wandering,
And the deep blue lake was being blue—
The temple of the Baptist not by hands made.
You were frightened by our first meeting,
But I was praying for a second one,
And again tonight there is a hot evening …
And the sunset so low above the mountain.
You are not with me, but it is not farewell:
And every moment is triumphant news for me.
I know that there is such anguish in you,
That you cannot utter a word.