Great, Toggenburg, was the suffering
Of yours; yet mine does overcome it:
For at last your darling soften'd;
She daily opens the window of her cell.
From the dawn till the evening you are happy
Hoping that her gentle image you will see,
And even when the deadly drop of sweat comes
Your trustful gaze turns to her.
In the heaven I mean to see her eyes
- When I dare to look in them -
As two angry cherubs with a fiery sword.
To not offend her in perpetual trembling,
I, poor soul, flee from her sight;
no ray is shining into the night of my life.