* * * The vineyards were still partially covered with snow.  I was sitting on a broken window-bar and freezing, yet my ardent love for thee permeated my being.  I was trembling for fear of falling, yet I climbed still higher because it occurred to me too venturesome for thy sake; thus thou often inspirest me with daring.  It was fortunate that the wild wolves from the Odenwald[11] did not appear, for I should have grappled with them had I thought of thy honor.  It seems foolish, but it’s true.—­Midnight, the evil hour of spirits, awakens me, and I lie at the window in the cold winter wind.  All Frankfurt is dead, the wicks in the street lamps are on the point of expiring, and the old rusty weather-vanes cry out to me, and I ask myself, is that the eternal tune?  Then I feel that this life is a prison where we all have only a pitiful vision of real freedom; that is one’s own soul.  Then a tumult rages in my breast and I long to soar above these old pointed gabled roofs that cut off heaven from me.  I leave my chamber, run through the wide halls of our house, and search for a way through the old garrets.  I suspect there are ghosts behind the rafters, but I do not heed them.  Then I seek the steps to the little turret, and, when I am at last on top, I look out through the small window at the wide heavens and am not at all cold.  It seems to me then as if I must give vent to all my pent-up tears, and the next day I am so cheerful and feel new-born, and I look with cunning for a prank to play.  And—­canst thou believe it?—­all this is—­thou!

May, 1808.

If it pleases thee to see me at thy feet in deep shame and confusion, then look down upon me now.  Thus does the poor shepherd-maiden fare, on whose head the king places a crown; even though her heart be proud to love him, yet the crown is too heavy and her little head staggers under the burden.  And besides, she is intoxicated with the honor and the homage which her beloved pays her.

Oh, I shall be careful never to complain again or to pray for fine weather, for I cannot bear the blinding sunbeams!  No, rather sigh in silent darkness than be led by thy muse into the brilliant daylight, confused and crowned—­that breaks my heart.  O, do not gaze on me so long; remove the crown and press me to thy heart!  Teach me to forget in thee that thou returnest me, glorified, to myself.

July 7, 1808.

* * * Ah, the rainbow even now setting its diamond foot on the meadow at Ingelheim and reaching over the house to Mount St. John is just like the blissful illusion I have of thee and me!  The Rhine, spreading out its net to catch the vision of its banks of paradise, is like this flame of life nourished by reflections of the unattainable.  Let it then win nothing more from reality than this illusion; it will give to me the peculiar spirit and the character expressive of my own self, just as the reflection does to the river in which it is mirrored. * * *