Jetzt komme, Feuer! - Friedrich Hölderlin

The tragically moderate weariness of the times, whose object is of no real interest to the heart, follows the pull of the spirit of the times without the least moderation and this spirit appears then as something wild and not, like a ghost in daylight, sparing mad at all, but quite pitiless, as the spirit of the always alive unwritten wilderness and the world of the dead.

Wir sind nichts; was wir suchen ist alles. (We are nothing; what we search for is everything.)

Holy spirits, you walk up there
in the light, on soft earth.
Shining god-like breezes
touch upon you gently,
as a woman's fingers
play music on holy strings.

Like sleeping infants the gods
breathe without any plan;
the spirit flourishes continually
in them, chastely kept,
as in a small bud,
and their holy eyes
look out in still
eternal clearness.

A place to rest
isn't given to us.
Suffering humans
decline and blindly fall
from one hour to the next,
like water thrown
from cliff to cliff,
year after year,
down into the Unknown.