him, etc.

But the most gifted poet of the set, and the most doughty opponent of
Lohenstein's bombast, was the unhappy Christian Guenther.[4]

He vents his feelings in verse because he must. There is a foretaste
of Goethe in his lyrics, poured put to free the soul from a burden,
and melodious as if by accident. As we turn over the leaves of his
book of songs, we find deep feeling for Nature mingled with his love
and sorrows.[5]

Bethink you, flowers and trees and shades,
Of the sweet evenings here with Flavia!
'Twas here her head upon my shoulder pressed;
Conceal, ye limes, what else I dare not say.
'Twas here she clover threw and thyme at me,
And here I filled her lap with freshest flowers.
Ah! that was a good time!
I care more for moon and starlight than the pleasantest of days,
And with eyes and heart uplifted from my chamber often gaze
With an awe that grows apace till it scarcely findeth space.

To his lady-love he writes:

Here where I am writing now
'Tis lonely, shady, cool, and green;
And by the slender fig I hear
The gentle wind blow towards Schweidnitz.
And all the time most ardently
I give it thousand kisses for thee.