I stood on the hill of Yrma
when the winds were a-hurrying,
With the grasses a-bending
I followed them,
Through the brown grasses of Ahva
unto the green of Asedon.
I have rested with the voices
in the gardens of Ahthor,
I have lain beneath the peach-trees
in the hour of the purple:
Because I had awaited in
the garden of the peach-trees,
Because I had feared not
in the forest of my mind,
Mine eyes beheld the vision of the blossom
There in the peach-gardens past Asedon.
O winds of Yrma, let her again come unto me,
Whose hair ye held unbound in the gardens of Ahthor!