I.

I. I round the threshold wandering here, Vainly the tempest and the rain invoke, That they may keep my lady prisoner. And yet the wind was howling in the woods, The roving thunder bellowing in the clouds, Before the dawn had risen in the sky. O ye dear clouds! O heaven! O earth! O trees! My lady goes! Have mercy, if on earth Unhappy lovers ever mercy find! Awake, ye whirlwinds! storm-charged clouds, awake, O’erwhelm me with your floods, until the sun To other lands brings back the light of day! Heaven opens; the wind falls; the grass, the leaves Are motionless, around; the dazzling sun In my tear-laden eyes remorseless shines.