3 (all fruitless is the cry)

ALL FRUITLESS is the cry,

All vain this burning fire of desire.

The sun goes down to his rest.

There is gloom in the forest and glamour in the sky.

With downcast look and lingering steps

The evening star conies in the wake of departing day

And the breath of the twilight is deep with the fulness of a farewell feeling.

I clasp both thine hands in mine,

and keep thine eyes prisoner with my hungry eyes;

Seeing and crying. Where art thou,

Where, O, where!

Where is the immortal flame hidden in the depth of thee!

As in the solitary star of the dark evening sky

The light of heaven, with its immense mystery, is quivering,

In thine eyes, in the depth of their darkness

There shines a soul-beam tremulous with a wide mystery.

Speechless I gaze upon it.

And I plunge with all my heart

Into the deep of a fathomless longing:

I lose myself.