I Fly High
You cannot match me, Kite
You lack the strength for this height.
I am a shooting star
From you I am very far
To you Grace has long gone
And for that she blesses none.
In your heart you sore
Envying me as I soar
Can Fortune be this blind,
Her oil gropes, my head to find?
No, Fortune still knows me
And she will surely fetch me.
Even the dark Chasm
Clinches fast to Fatalism
When I only pass by
And even avoid her eye.
Me back you cannot hold
My greatness is well foretold
Oh how huge a labor
This grand greatness I savor!
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