I know it now. By heaven! 'tis thou Whom I have loved. How bitter now, The moment we are joined for ever, To find the hour when we must sever! The welcome must at once give way To sad farewell! (BOWRING) Half laughing, half weeping, he bemoans the compulsory platonic affection of two lovers, to whom an embrace is an impossibility: "Worte! Worte! keine Thaten! Niemals Fleisch, geliebte Puppe, Immer Geist und keinen Braten, Keine Knödel in der Suppe!"[3] [3] Words, empty words, and never deeds! No roast for us, my puppet sweet, Not even dumplings in the soup; A feast of mind, but not of meat! When, at a rare time, she keeps him waiting, he is frantic with impatience: "Lass mich mit glüh'nden Zangen kneipen, Lass grausam schinden mein Gesicht, Lass mich mit Ruthen peitschen, stäupen-- Nur warten, warten lass mich nicht!"[4] [4] With red-hot irons scar my flesh, Pinch me with pincers glowing hot, Or have me heat with many stripes-- But oh! to wait compel me not! But the great mystic poem which celebrates the nuptials of the dead poet with the passion-flower that blossoms on his grave, is a poem of resignation, resignation in the presence of Death: "Du warst die Blume, du geliebtes Kind, An deinen Küssen musst' ich dich erkennen. So zärtlich keine Blumenlippen sind, So feurig keine Blumenthränen brennen. Geschlossen war mein Aug', doch angeblickt Hat meine Seel' beständig dein Gesichte, Du sahst mich an, beseeligt und verzückt Und geisterhaft beglänzt vom Mondenlichte."[5] [5] Thou wast that flower, beloved! I knew thee by thy kisses; no flower lips kiss so tenderly, no flower tears burn so scorchingly. My eyes were fast closed, but my soul gazed steadfastly upon thy face; and in the moonlight's ghostly sheen, blissful and trembling, thou did'st return my gaze. These images, these feelings, belong to an insubstantial world, a world like the blind man's, where there are kisses, but not from visible lips, and tears which fall from unseen eyes, a world fragrant with the perfume of flowers that cannot be touched, and illuminated by magic, spirit-like moonshine instead of the light of the sun. There is no substantiality and there is no sound: "Wir sprachen nicht, jedoch mein Herz vernahm Was du verschwiegen dachtest im Gemüthe-- Das ausgesprochene Wort ist ohne Scham, Das Schweigen ist der Liebe keusche Blüthe."[6] [6] We said not a word, but my heart felt all thy unspoken thoughts--the spoken word is a shameless thing, silence is love's chaste blossom. They held noiseless converse, but what they talked of we are forbidden to ask: "Frag, was er strahlet, den Karfunkelstein, Frag, was sie duften, Nachtviol' und Rosen-- Doch frage nie, wovon im Mondenschein Die Marterblume und ihr Todter kosen!"[7]