far above the hollow
tempest, and its moan,
singeth bright apollo
in his golden zone —
cloud doth never shade him,
nor a storm invade him,
on his joyous throne.
so when i behold me
in an orb as bright,
how thy soul doth fold me
in its throne of light!
sorrow never paineth,
nor a care attaineth
to that blessed height.
