Tell it only to the wise,
For the crowd at once will jeer:
That which is alive I praise,
That which longs for death by fire.
Cooled by passionate love at night,
You have known the alien feeling
In the calm of candlelight;
Gloom-embraced will lie no more,
By the flickering shades obscured,
But are seized by new desire,
To a higher union lured.
Then no distance holds you fast;
Winged, enchanted, on you fly,
Light your longing, and at last,
Moth, you meet the flame and die.
Never prompted to that quest:
Die and dare rebirth!
You remain a dreary guest
On our gloomy earth.
J. W. Goethe, translated by Michael Hamburger