Thou who didst make more ardent
My sighing and my tears,
O let my anthem quicken
Dust of a thousand years.

What wilt thou of my heart, then,
Who with the wine of life
Excitest in the goblet
This passion and this strife?

And when my breath caressing
Shall softly, sweetly blow,
The withered heart will blossom,
The tulip newly glow.

My fantasy is soaring
Beyond the stars and sun;
Why lurkest thou in hiding,
When hunting’s to be done?

O Master, guard the honour
Of him who begs of thee;
He’ll let no wine of others
Within his goblet be.