Through snow, through shower,
The wind’s wild power,
Through steaming gorges’
Fog-scented surges,
Ever on, ever on!
Rest and peace are gone!
I’d rather suffer,
Struggle and battle,
Than for life’s offer,
Happiness, settle.
All of those passions,
Heart-to-heart ferment—
How the self fashions,
Ah, its own torment.
Can I, poor creature,
Flee back to nature?
All is in vain!
You are the crown,
Joy without peace,
Love—never cease!
1776