Before his coming thunder breaks;
In plunging fires his way he takes;
Beneath his feet the daisies die,
And night looms darkly in his eye.
So let him come!
Let every silver, trilling bird be dumb!
Let the white daisies drooping lie
Crushed by his pitiless urgency.

He gives no soft or honied kiss,
Nor sings melodious rhapsodies
Of easy joy and bright reward:
His beauty is a flaming sword.
So let him come!
Let every, silver, trilling bird be dumb!
Let the white daisies drooping lie
Crushed by his pitiless urgency.