EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY

Foretaste of death! —Went I my way too swiftly? Now that the foot grows weary, Thine eye still catches me, Thy happiness still catches me. Around but waves and play. Whatever was hard —Sank into blue oblivion. My boat now stands idle. Storm and motion—how did it forget them! Desire and Hope are drowned, Sea and soul are becalmed. Seventh Solitude! Never felt! Sweet certainty nearer, Or warmer the sun's ray. —Glows not the ice of my summit yet? Silvery, light, a fish Now my vessel swims out.... THE LAST DESIRE⁴³