Tulip in the mountains blowing,
Lamp in mead and garden glowing,
Gaze on me, for I will give
Guidance on the way to live.

We are not the pigment charming,
Nor the scattered scent disarming,
We are that which moves confined
In the heart, and in the mind.

Drunkenness is wine-engendered,
Springeth not of goblet tendered,
Though it needs the goblet, too,
To consume the wine, ‘tis true.

Let thy breast be flame-conceiving,
For within this night of living
Self may never come to sight
Save discovered by this light.

Wave of flame, O bare thy bosom
To the morning-breeze; O blossom,
Do not seek the dew, to quell
Thy heart’s fiery crucible!