The banners of the king unfold

to tend me on my evening way:

my trumpets flood the air with gold;

my pride uplifts the vanquish’d day.

The riches of my heart are bled

to feed the passion of the west:

the limpid springs of life are shed,

and Beauty bares her secret breast.

Hasten, O night with nuptial breath!

O hour remote from any face!

vain-glories fade to sweetest death

heart-whelm’d in her divine embrace.