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Thy will is done, O God!
The star hath ridden high
Thro' many a tempest, but she rode
Beneath thy burning eye;
And here, in thought, to thee –
In thought that can alone
Ascend thy empire and so be
A partner of thy throne –
[1]By winged Fantasy,
My embassy is given,
Till secrecy shall knowledge be
In the environs of Heaven."
She ceas'd – and buried then her burning cheek
Abash'd, amid the lilies there, to seek
A shelter from the fervor of His eye;
For the stars trembled at the Deity.
- ↑ By winged Fantasy:
Seltsamen Tochter Jovia
Seinem Schosskinde
Der Phantasie. — Goethe.
