Only begrudge all summer, you mighty
And an autumn ripened song,
that willingly.! my heart, sweet
Games sated, then I die.
The soul, Not in the life of its divine right
came, she lies down there in Hades not, is
But I managed once the 'holy, which lies at the heart
me the poem,
welcome then, silence, the shadows!
I am satisfied, although my strings
me not transmitted down;
Once I lived like gods, and no more is needed.
Friedrich Hölderlin, 1798
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