On his journey from Brenner to Verona, Goethe writes:
"The Tees flows now more gently, and makes in many places broad
sands. On the land, near to the water, upon the hillsides,
everything is so closely planted one to another, that you think
they must choke one another,--vineyards, maize, mulberry-trees,
apples, pears, quinces, and nuts. The dwarf elder throws itself
vigorously over the walls. Ivy grows with strong stems up the
rocks, and spreads itself wide over them, the lizard glides
through the intervals, and everything that wanders to and fro
reminds one of the loveliest pictures of art. The women's tufts
of hair bound up, the men's bare breasts and light jackets, the
excellent oxen which they drive home from market, the little
asses with their loads,--everything forms a living, animated
Heinrich Roos. And now that it is evening, in the mild air a few
clouds rest upon the mountains, in the heavens more stand still
than move, and immediately after sunset the chirping of crickets
begins to grow more loud; then one feels for once at home in the
world, and not as concealed or in exile.
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