Delphi Collected Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe \(Illustrated\) pdfdrive com

AUGUST 28.

If my ills would admit of any cure, they would certainly be cured here. This is

my  birthday,  and  early  in  the  morning  I  received  a  packet  from  Albert.  Upon

opening it, I found one of the pink ribbons which Charlotte wore in her dress the

first time I saw her, and which I had several times asked her to give me. With it

were  two  volumes  in  duodecimo  of  Wetstein’s  “Homer,”  a  book  I  had  often

wished for, to save me the inconvenience of carrying the large Ernestine edition

with me upon my walks. You see how they anticipate my wishes, how well they

understand  all  those  little  attentions  of  friendship,  so  superior  to  the  costly

presents of the great, which are humiliating. I kissed the ribbon a thousand times,

and  in  every  breath  inhaled  the  remembrance  of  those  happy  and  irrevocable

days which filled me with the keenest joy. Such, Wilhelm, is our fate. I do not

murmur  at  it:  the  flowers  of  life  are  but  visionary.  How  many  pass  away,  and

leave no trace behind — how few yield any fruit — and the fruit itself, how

rarely does it ripen! And yet there are flowers enough! and is it not strange, my

friend,  that  we  should  suffer  the  little  that  does  really  ripen,  to  rot,  decay,  and

perish  unenjoyed?  Farewell!  This  is  a  glorious  summer.  I  often  climb  into  the

trees in Charlotte’s orchard, and shake down the pears that hang on the highest

branches. She stands below, and catches them as they fall.