In the calm water of the love-nights Where you were conceived, where you have conceived, A strange feeling comes over you When you see the silent candle burning.
No longer caught up in the obesession of darkness, A desire for higher love-making Sweeps you upward.
Finally distance does not make you falter, Flying, soaring, arriving in magic And insane for the light, You are the moth, And you are gone.
And so long as you do not accept this truth And be willing to die, so that you might live, You will always walk this dark earth A troubled guest, alone.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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