The poem
THROUGH rain, through snow, Through tempest go! 'Mongst streaming caves, O'er misty waves, On, on! still on! Peace, rest have flown!
Sooner through sadness
I'd wish to be slain, Than all the gladness
Of life to sustain All the fond yearning
That heart feels for heart, Only seems burning
To make them both smart.
How shall I fly? Forestwards hie? Vain were all strife! Bright crown of life. Turbulent bliss,-- Love, thou art this!
1789.