“The mysterious spring”
The mysterious spring still lay under a spell,
the transparent wind stalked over the mountains,
and the deep lake kept on being blue,—
a temple of the Baptist not made by hands.
You were frightened by our first meeting,
but I already prayed for the second, and now
the evening is hot, the way it was then . . .
How close the sun has come to the mountain.
You are not with me, but this is no separation:
to me each instant is — triumphant news.
I know there is such anguish in you
that you cannot say a single word.
(Trans. Jane Kenyon)