CASSEL, August 13th, 1807.
Who can interpret and measure what is passing within me? I am happy now
in remembrance of the past, which I scarcely was when that past was the
present. To my sensitive heart the surprise of being with thee, the
coming and going and returning in a few blessed days--this was all like
clouds flitting across my heaven; through my too near presence I feared
it might be darkened by my shadow, as it is ever darker when it nears
the earth; now, in the distance, it is mild and lofty and ever clear.
I would fain press thy dear hand with both of mine to my bosom, and say
to thee, "How peace and content have come to me since I have
known thee!"
I know that the evening has not come when life's twilight gathers in my
heart: oh, would it were so! Would that I had lived out my days, that my
wishes and joys were fulfilled, and that they could all be heaped upon
thee, that thou mightst be therewith decked and crowned as with
evergreen bays.
When I was alone with thee on that evening I could not comprehend thee:
thou didst smile at me because I was moved, and laughed at me because I
wept; but why? And yet it was thy laughter, the _tone_ of thy laughter,
which moved me to tears; and I am content, and see, under the cloak of
this riddle, roses burst forth which spring alike from sadness and joy.
Yes, thou art right, prophet: I shall yet with light heart struggle up
through jest and mirth; I shall weary myself with struggling as I did in
my childhood (ah, it seems as if it were but yesterday!) when with the
exuberance of joy I wandered through the blossoming fields, pulling up
the flowers by the roots and throwing them into the water. But I wish to
seek rest in a warm, firm earnestness, and there at hand standest thou,
smiling prophet!
I say to thee yet once more: Whoever in this wide world understands what
is passing within me, who, am so restful in thee, so silent, so
unwavering in my feeling? I could, like the mountains, bear nights and
days in the past without disturbing thee in thy reflections! And yet
when at times the wind bears the fragrance and the germs together from
the blossoming world up to the mountain heights, they will be
intoxicated with delight as I was yesterday. Then I loved the world,
then I was as glad as a gushing, murmuring spring in which the sun for
the first time shines.
Farewell, sublime one who blindest and intimidatest me! From this steep
rock upon which my love has in life-danger ventured, I cannot clamber
down. I cannot think of descending, for I should break my neck in
the attempt.