Hyperion to Bellarmin
It’s no use; I can’t conceal it from myself. Whither I flee with my thoughts, up to the heavens and into the abyss, to the beginning and end of time, even to him who was my last refuge, who’d once consume every last care in me, who'd once sear all life’s pleasure and all its pain in me with the flame of fire in which he revealed himself, even if I throw myself into his arms, the glorious secret spirit of the world, dive down into his depths as into the bottomless ocean, even there, even there shall the sweet dread find me out, the sweet bewildering lethal dread, that Diotima’s grave is near.
Do you hear? do you hear? Diotima’s grave!
Yet my heart had grown so still, and my love lay buried with the dead one I loved.
You know, my Bellarmin! for long I didn’t write to you of her, and when I wrote, I wrote to you calmly, I think.
And now what?
I go down to the shore and gaze out towards Calauria where she rests, that’s what.
Oh, let no one lend his boat to me, let no one take pity and offer me his oar and help me across to her!
Let the goodly waters not stay calm, lest I hew myself a piece of timber and swim across to her!
But I will fling myself into the raging sea and beg its wave to cast me up on Diotima’s shore! —
Dear brother! I comfort my heart with all kinds of fancies, I grant myself many a sleeping draught; and it would no doubt be nobler to free oneself forever than to make do with palliatives; but isn’t that the way it is with all of us? So I’m content it should be so.
Content? oh, that would be a fine thing! that would be help indeed where never a god can help.
Now! now! I’ve done what I could! I demand from fate my soul.