The essence of poetry which is founded by Hölderlin is historical in the highest degree, because it anticipates a historical time. As a historical essence; however, it is the only true essence.
Lean and needy is the time, and thus its poet is overrich—so rich that he would often like to languish in the thought of those who have been, and in expectation of the {GA 4: 48} one who is coming, and would simply like to sleep in this apparent emptiness. But he holds firm in the Nothingness of this night. In that the poet in his supreme isolation keeps his mission to himself, he brings about the truth vicariously and therefore truly for his people. The seventh stanza of the elegy "Bread and Wine" (IV, 123ff.) proclaims this. There it is said poetically what here could only be thoughtfully discussed.
But, my friend, we come too late. Indeed, the gods are living,
But above our heads, up in another world.
Endlessly there they act and seem little to care
Whether we live, or not, so much do the heavenly spare us.
For a fragile vessel is not always able to hold them,
Only at times can man bear divine fullness.
Henceforth life is a dream about them. But wandering astray
Helps, like sleep, and need and night makes us strong,
Until heroes enough have grown in the strong cradle,
Hearts, as once, resemble the heavenly in strength.
Thundering then they come. Meanwhile, I often think it is
Better to sleep than so to be without friends,
So to be always waiting, and what to do and say in the meanwhile
I do not know and what are poets for in a time of need?
But they are, you say, like those holy priests of the wine-god
Who traveled from land to land in holy night.