All Things Are Only Transitory.

For A Strolling Damsel A Doubtful Reputation Bears. [ger., Denn Ein Wanderndes Madchen Ist Immer Von Schwankendem Rufe.]

As Soon As Any One Belongs To A Narrow Creed In Science, Every Unprejudiced And True Perception Is Gone.

Here Too It’s Masquerade, I Find: As Everywhere, The Dance Of Mind. I Grasped A Lovely Masked Procession, And Caught Things From A Horror Show… I’d Gladly Settle For A False Impression, If It Would Last A Little Longer, Though.

Whatever Liberates Our Spirit, Without Also Giving Us Mastery Over Ourselves, Is Destructive.

All Lyrical Work Must, As A Whole, Be Perfectly Intelligible, But In Some Particulars A Little Unintelligible.