[Ausblick nach Süden, No. 17]
And over the mountains lies Italy. The sun and moon stand bright and cheerful above the heights while clouds still loom here. And I sense from afar the Italic light, the eternal verity of life, a hovering existence, celestial and earthly grace ...
And over the mountains lies Italy – it is not my home. And yet, it sometimes seems to me as if I would rather be there than at home. It is ours to feel that happiness always lies elsewhere, and we envy all who are different. And yet, the thistle must find its happiness in its own soil, for, transplanted to the loveliest garden, it will never become a rose. Only when we are lowly shall happiness come our way - perhaps.
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