THE MORAL POET.
Man is in truth a poor creature,—I know it,—and fain would forget it;
Therefore (how sorry I am!) came I, alas, unto thee!
THE DANAIDES.
Into the sieve we've been pouring for years,—
o'er the stone we've been brooding;
But the stone never warms,—nor does the sieve ever fill.
THE SUBLIME SUBJECT.
'Tis thy Muse's delight to sing God's pity to mortals;
But, that they pitiful are,—is it a matter for song?
THE ARTIFICE.
Wouldst thou give pleasure at once to the children of earth and
the righteous?
Draw the image of lust—adding the devil as well!
IMMORTALITY.
Dreadest thou the aspect of death! Thou wishest to live on forever?
Live in the whole, and when long thou shalt have gone, 'twill remain!