My Goddess: A Free Version from Goethe

Who, of heaven's immortal train.
Shall the highest prize obtain?
Strife I would with all give o'er,
But there's one I'll aye adore,
Ever new and ever changing,
Through the paths of marvel raging,
Dearest in her father's eye,
Jove's own darling, Fantasy.
For to her, and her alone,
All his secret whims are known;
And in all her faults' despite
Is the maid her sire's delight.
Oft, with aspect mild, she goes,
Decked with lilies and the rose,
Walks among the flowery bands,
Summer's insect swarm commands,
And for food with honeyed lips
Dew-drops from the blossom sips; —
Or, with darker mein, and hair
Streaming loose in murky air,
With the storm she rushes by,
Whistling where the crags are high,
And, with hues of thousand dyes,
Like the late and early skies,
Changes and is changed again,
Fast as moons that wax and wane.
Him, the ancient sire, we'll praise,
Who, as partner of our days,
Hath to mortal man allied
Such a fair, unfading bride.
For to us alone she's given,
And is bound by bonds of heaven
Still to be our faithful bride,
And, though joy or wo betide,
Ne'er to wander from our side.
Other tribes, that have their birth
In the fruitful teeming earth,
All, through narrow life, remain
In dark, pleasures, gloomy pain.
Live their being's narrow round,
To the passing moment bound,
And, unconscious, roam and feed,
Bent beneath the yoke of need.
But to us, with kind intent,
He his frolic daughter sent,
Nursed with fondest tenderness.
Welcome her with love's caress,
And take heed, that none but she
Mistress of the mansion be.
And of wisdom's power beware.
Lest the old step-mother dare
Rudely harm the tender fair.
Yet I know Jove's elder child,
Graver and serenely mild,
My beloved, my tranquil friend.
From me never may she wend, —
She, that knows with ill to cope,
And to action urges — Hope.