Heaven whispers it, it is grumbled by hell,
It sounds only weakly in echo’s wave,
And if it comes to a flood, it becomes mute,
Upon the heights you hear its two-fold humming.
It loves the turmoil of battle, flees peace,
It is given neither to men nor women,
But to every animal, only you have to dissect it;
No trace of it can be found in poetry,
But scholarly disciplines have it, above all others
Theology and philosophy.
It is always at the head when it comes to heroes,
But the wretched also never lack it internally,
It is well and truly found in every house,
For if it were omitted, it would be over.
It is small in Greece, on the banks of the Tiber
It is bigger, and it has become the biggest in Germany.
It hides itself in the shadow, in the little flower too,
You breathe it daily, it is only a breath.