"You inhabit the light, you walk
On easy ground, the shining
Breezes of Heaven play
Around you, the blessed,
As lightly as the lyre–
Playing fingers of a girl.
Gods have no fate, they have
The sleeping infant's
Quiet breath;
Their spirits, kept
From spoiling in the bud,
Blossom for ever;
They have a still
Eternal clarity
Of gaze.
We have no footing anywhere,
No rest, we topple,
Fall and suffer
Blindly from hour
To hour like water
Pitched from fall
To fall, year in,
Year out, headlong,
Ignorant".
(Friedrich Holderlin)
