the very atmosphere of these pictures, and far more brutally, indeed, than in Mörike's charming poem.
The Maiden's First Love Song
What's in the net?
Behold,
But I am afraid,
Do I grasp a sweet eel,
Do I seize a snake?
Love is a blind
Fisherwoman;
Tell the child
Where to seize.
Already it leaps in my hands.
Oh, Pity, or delight!
With nestlings and turnings
It coils on my breast,
It bites me, oh, wonder!
Boldly through the skin,
It darts under my heart.
Oh, Love, I shudder!
What can I do, what can I begin?
That shuddering thing;
There it crackles within
And coils in a ring.
It must be poisoned.
Here it crawls around.
Blissfully I feel as it worms
Itself into my soul
And kills me finally.
All these things are simple, and need no explanation to be intelligible. Somewhat more complicated, but still
