Drunkards of summer are quite as frequent as Drunkards of wine.

Drunkards of summer are quite as frequent as Drunkards of wine.

I wonder if it hurts to live, And if they have to try, And whether, could they choose between, They would not rather die.

Earth is a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true

A letter always seemed to me like immortality because it is the mind alone without corporeal friend.

Exultation is the going Of an inland soul to sea Past the houses, past the headlands Into deep eternity! Bred as we, among the mountains Can the sailor understand The divine intoxication Of the first league out from land?

How frugal is the chariot that bears a human soul.