Thy sunbeam comes upon this earth of mine with arms outstretched and stands at my
door the livelong day to carry
back to thy feet
clouds made of my tears and sighs and songs.
With fond delight thou wrappest about thy starry breast that mantle of misty
cloud, turning it into numberless shapes and folds and colouring it with hues
everchanging.
It is so light and so fleeting, tender and tearful and dark, that is why thou
lovest it, O thou spotless and serene. And that is why it may cover thy awful
white light with its pathetic shadows.