It is beautiful to unfold our souls And our short lives - Friedrich Hölderlin

Who the deepest has thought loves what is most alive.

Go down, then, lovely sun, for but little they
Regarded you, nor holly one, knew your worth,
Since without toil you rose, and quiet,
Over a people for ever toiling.

To me, however, kindly you rise and set,
O Glorious light, and brightly my eyes respond,
For godly, silent reverence I
Learned when Diotima soothed my frenzy.

O how I listened, Heaven's own messenger,
To you, my teacher! Love! How to the golden day
These eyes transfused with thanks looked up from
Gazing at you. And at once more living

The brooks began to murmur, more lovingly
The blossoms of dark Earth breathed their scent at me
And through the silver clouds a smiling
Aether bowed down to bestow his blessing.

It was not delight, not wonder that arose among us, it was the peace of heaven. A thousand times have I said it to her and to myself: the most beautiful is also the most sacred. And such was everything in her. Like her singing, even so was her life.