Blissful yearning

Tell this to no one but the wise,

for the masses will just ridicule it:

I would praise the living thing

that yearns for death in the flames.

In the cool hush of nights of love,

when you conceive as you were conceived,

a strange feeling overcomes you

when the quiet candle gleams.

No longer do you remain captive

in the darkness of these shadows;

and a new desire rips you

toward a loftier intercourse.

No distance can make you heavy:

you come flying and spellbound,

and at last, eager for the light,

poor moth, you are burned to death.

And so long as you have not attained it,

this, "Die and become!",

you will only be a gloomy guest

on this dark earth.

Pick up a pipe for yourself

to make the world a little sweeter!

May it lovingly chase away

my writing-pipe!