(words by Johann Wolfgang Goethe)

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The mortal soul

Is like the water:

From heaven it comes,

To heaven it ascends,

And then again to earth

It must descend,

Ever changing.

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Its clear jet streams

Down from the

Lofty precipice

Then in comely waves of foam

It powders white

The smooth rock,

And lightly taken

Simmers in a haze,

Swishing softly

Down to the depths.

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Where the towering crags

Pierce thro' the flow

It froths in anger,

Falls by stages

To the chasm.

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Once in its shallow bed

It creeps through meadow vale

Into a smooth lake

Wherein all stars

Feast countenance.

Wind is of the wave.

A pleading sweetheart,

Wind churns the very depths

Of foaming waves.

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O mortal soul,

Thou art like water's image,

O human fate,

Thou resemblest the wind!

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