Holy spirits, you walk up there <br />in the light, on soft earth. <br />Shining god-like breezes <br />touch upon you gently, <br />as a woman's fingers <br />play music on holy strings. <br /> <br /> <br />Like sleeping infants the gods <br />breathe without any plan; <br />the spirit flourishes continually <br />in them, chastely kept, <br />as in a small bud, <br />and their holy eyes <br />look out in still <br />eternal clearness. <br /> <br /> <br />A place to rest <br />isn't given to us. <br />Suffering humans <br />decline and blindly fall <br />from one hour to the next, <br />like water thrown <br />from cliff to cliff, <br />year after year, <br />down into the Unknown.<br /><br />Friedrich Holderlin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hyperion-s-song-of-destiny/
