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It used to go the rounds of the German newspapers, and I translated it, a long while ago, when I thought that I too was in 'Arkadien geboren'. Aloof in the air it rises O'er the rush, the plunge, the death; On the thronging banks of the river There is neither pulse nor breath. Forever it hovers and poises Aloof in the moonlit air; As light as mist from the rapids, As heavy as nightmare.
Herder was moved to tears on reading Loeben's Maria, but Herder was easily moved, and he died soon after; he would in all probability have changed his mind too. Friedrich Schlegel, on the other hand, was not justified in calling the pastoral poems in Arkadien "Schafpoesie."
It used to go the rounds of the German newspapers, and I translated it, a long while ago, when I thought that I too was in 'Arkadien geboren'. Aloof in the air it rises O'er the rush, the plunge, the death; On the thronging banks of the river There is neither pulse nor breath. Forever it hovers and poises Aloof in the moonlit air; As light as mist from the rapids, As heavy as nightmare.
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