cool.
Now Aurora paints the fir tops at their very tips with gold,
And the little finch sits up there launching forth his song of praise,
Thanking for the night that's over, for the day that's just awake
Gently blows the breeze of morning, rocking in the topmost twigs,
And it bends them down like children, like good children when they pray;
And the dew is an oblation as it drops from their green hair.
O what beauties in the forest he that we may see and know!
One could melt away one's heart before its wonders manifold!

The sixth line in the original has a melody that reminds one of
Goethe's early work.

But even amidst the artificial poetry then in vogue, there were a few
side streams which turned away from the main current of the great
poet schools, from the unnaturalness and bombast affected especially
by the Silesians. As Winter says, even the satirists Moscherosch and
Logau were indirectly of use in paving the way for a healthier
condition, through their severe criticisms of the corruption of the
language; and Logau's one epigram on May, 'This month is a kiss which
heaven gives to earth, that she may be a bride now, a mother
by-and-by,' outweighs all Harsdoerfer's and Zesen's poetry about
Nature.

But even by the side of Opitz and Fleming there was at least one poet
of real feeling, Friedrich von Spee.[2] With all his mystic and
pietist Christianity, he kept an open eye for Nature. His poems are
full of disdain of the world and joy in Nature,[3] longings for death
and lamentations over sin; he delighted in personifications of
abstract ideas, childish playing with words and feelings, and
sentimental enthusiasm. But mawkish and canting as he was apt to be,
he often shewed a fine appreciation of detail. He was even--a rare
thing then--fascinated by the sea.

Now rages and roars the wild, wild sea,
Now in soft curves lies quietly;
Sweetly the light of the sun's bright glow
Mirrors itself in the water below.

Sad winter's past--the stork is here,
Birds are singing and nests appear;
Bowery homes steal into the day,
Flow'rets present their full array;
Like little snakes and woods about,
The streams go wandering in and out.

His motives, like his diminutives, are constantly recurring. He uses
many bold and poetic personifications; the sun 'combs her golden
hair,' the moon is a good shepherd who leads his sheep the stars
across the blue heath, blowing upon a soft pipe; the sun