There is in me
such a tumult of life that frequently after an outburst my spirit and
soul are left in such weariness that I seem to be on the point of death.
Every brief calm begets more violent storms. Often in the black darkness
of a stormy, rainy midnight, I long to hasten to you, throw myself into
your arms, sink with you into the infinite ocean of delight and--die. Oh
Love! oh Love! what a strange and wonderful power art thou to hold body
and soul in such unbreakable bonds!... I let my imagination roam through
the whole world, yea, through all the heavens and the Heaven of heavens,
and examine every delight and compare it to you, but by the Eternal God!
there is nothing I desire so ardently as to hold you, sweetest and
heavenliest of all women, in my arms. If I could win you by walking
round the earth, naked and barefoot, through thorns and thistles, over
rocks and snow and ice, and, on the point of death, with the last spark
of life, sink into your arms and draw new life and happiness from your
loving bosom, I should consider that I bought you for a trifle.
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