Sunday, March 28, 2010
A poem by Johann Gottlieb Fichte
What gave my eye this force,
That all misshapen forms have dissolved,
That the nights become like brilliant suns,
Disorder becomes order, decay life?
What intricate weaving through time, through space,
Guides me surely to the eternal well
Of the Beautiful, the True, the Good, and of all delight,
And in destroying immerses all my striving?
It is this: into Urania's eye, the deep,
Itself clear, blue, still, pure
Lightflame, I myself have quietly gazed.
Since then, this eye rests in my depths
And is in my being--the eternal One
Lives in my life, sees in my seeing.