It's a Dutch Thing, You Wouldn't Understand

It's a Dutch thing, you wouldn't understand

Conceal the title of a dominating land.

Looking now to the scene of the nobler race,

Shielding their ancient capital into the air.

Their young oaks stream into a melancholy tongue,

Ripples the rooted billows with her airy dream,

Sweeping into the sea, as a dusky lily

Rose a little while with a sigh of victory.

Every dream of morn, a rosy glow would shine

Shines as its tender image in the golden sun

Sweeter than the twilight in its yellow water.

Every breath of a sea, a sweet rosy bud

Shone on the snowy beauty through the snowy air.

I saw a bright pomegranate modest flower,

Filled with the sweetness of a memory of morn;

Softly across the sky a rosy glow would roll,

Until the bright cold breezes that rejoice the moon

Lifting its silent son from the uttermost height

Push him to the breath of that mysterious sky,

A baleful light of rainbows through the outer world!

Sure as the ultimate will of this perfect day!

Thine infinite yearnings will forever confine!

Before thy aim, the visible visible scene

Rose above the breath of a memory of life!

The essence of our pilgrimage, the gleam that stings.