To his odd and comic speeches: 'There above, they call me foolish, Let them gossip, my dear fellow, Gossip never doth annoy me. Oh, the world has grown quite stupid! How they grope, and how they stumble, Over paths, to find what Truth is; Still in fog they are enveloped. To the first cause of all being We must needs go back, and bring the Last result of our researches In a concrete form together. Thus we comprehend the world well; For this purpose I am drinking Truly cosmogonically. Mundane space to me is nothing But a roomy vaulted cellar, Where as first and central wine-tun, Firmly stands the sun erected! Next to him the rank and file of Smaller casks, fixed stars and planets. As the divers casks are holding Wines of various sorts and flavours, So comprise the heavenly bodies Various spiritual natures. Land-wine this--that Ruedesheimer; But the earth-cask holds a mixture; Fermentation has half clouded And half volatilised the spirit The antagony of matter And of spirit is, by thinking, Blended into higher union. Thus soars my creative genius Far on high, while I am drinking. And when through my brain are rushing Revelations from the wine-fumes, And when then my feeble body Tottering sinks down by the wine-tun, 'Tis the triumph of the spirit, 'Tis the act of self-deliverance From the narrow bounds of being. Thus my solitude doth teach me Nature's everlasting system. With mankind it would be better, Had the great Germanic race but Understood their high vocation, And throughout the world had carried High the standard of the wine-cask, Made of drinking a devotion-- As the Persians worship fire!' O Perkeo! better were it Now with me, if to thy wisdom I had never, never listened! 'Twas a sharp cold winter morning, When down in the cosy cellar We were taking a potation, Talking philosophically; But when I stepped out at midday, The whole world and everybody Looked most strangely queer and funny. Rosy hues lit up all Nature, Angel-voices I heard plainly. On the balcony of the castle Stood surrounded by her ladies, Full of grace, of all the fairest, The Electress Leonora, Up to her start my bold glances, Up to her my daring longing; Clouded was my understanding. Quickly I approached the terrace And began to sing the wild air Which the Palsgrave Frederic once sang, As a love-sick serenader, To his lovely English bride."