Hermann Sudermann,
The Wish: A Novel
“ Then I saw hanging on the wall a withered ivy wreath, which I had not noticed before, a wreath such as I was wont to send on special occasions for our parents' graves. Perhaps that was where this one, too, came from. At the present moment it appeared as if woven of flames, everything about it lived phantastically. And when I looked more closely, it even seemed to me as if it began to revolve, and to emit a cascade of sparks, like a real wheel of fire. ”
