“After having sung the song a second time, she paused for a moment, and, attentively surveying Wilhelm, she asked him, ‘Know’st thou the land?’ ‘It must be Italy!’ he replied.”—Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship.

Know’st thou the land where the lemon tree blows—
Where deep in the bower the gold orange grows?
Where zephyrs from heaven die softly away,
And the laurel and myrtle tree never decay?
Know’st thou it? Thither, O! thither with thee,
My dearest, my fondest! with thee would I flee.

Know’st thou the hall with its pillared arcades,
Its chambers so vast and its long colonnades?
Where the statues of marble with features so mild
Ask “Why have they used thee so harshly, my child?”
Know’st thou it? Thither, O! thither with thee,
My guide, my protector! with thee would I flee.

Know’st thou the Alp which the vapor enshrouds,
Where the bold muleteer seeks his way thro’ the clouds?
In the cleft of the mountain the dragon abides,
And the rush of the stream tears the rock from its sides;
Know’st thou it? Thither, O! thither with thee,
Leads our way, father—then come, let us flee.