Oh, Goethe!  My longing, my feelings, are melodies seeking a song to cling to!  May I cling to thee?  Then shall these melodies ascend high enough to accompany thy songs!* * *

June 20, 1807.

* * * I cannot resist telling thee what I have dreamed of thee at night—­as if thou wert in the world for no other purpose.  Often I have had the same dream and I have pondered much why my soul should always commune with thee under the same conditions.  It is always as though I were to dance before thee in ethereal garments.  I have a feeling that I shall accomplish all.  The crowd surrounds me.  Now I seek thee, and thou sittest opposite me calm and serene as if thou didst not observe me and wert busy with other things.  Now I step out before thee with shoes of gold and my silvery arms hanging down carelessly—­and wait.  Then thou raisest thy head, involuntarily thy gaze is fixed upon me as I describe magic circles with airy tread.  Thy eye leaves me no more; thou must follow me in my movements, and I experience the triumph of success!  All that thou scarcely divinest I reveal to thee in the dance, and thou art astonished at the wisdom concealed in it.  Soon I cast off my airy robe and show thee my wings and mount on high!  Then I rejoice to see thy eye following me, and I glide to earth again and sink into thy embrace.  Then thou sighest and gazest at me in rapture.  Waking from these dreams I return to mankind as from a distant land; their voices seem so strange and their demeanor too!  And now let me confess that my tears are flowing at this confession of my dreams. * * *

March 15, 1808.

When in a few weeks I go into the Rhine country, for spring will be here then, I shall write thee from every mountain; I am always so much nearer thee when I am outside the city walls.  I sometimes seem to feel thee then with every breath I take.  I feel thee reigning in my heart when it is beautiful without, when the air caresses; yes, when nature is good and kind like thee, then I feel thee so distinctly! * * *

* * * All other men seem to me as one and the same—­I do not distinguish between them, and I take no interest in the great universal sea of human events.  The stream of life bears thee, and thou me.  In thy arms I shall pass over it, and thou wilt bear me until the end—­wilt thou not?  And even though there were thousands of existences yet to come, I can not take wing to them, for with thee I am at home.  So be thou also at home in me—­or dost thou know anything better than me and thee in the magic circle of life? * * *

March 30, 1808.