The burnt-out gaiety of reckless years
Lies heavy on me like a bleary hangover.
But, like wine, the sadness of the bygone days
In my soul grows stronger the older it is.
My path is bleak. Labor and sorrow is promised me
By the future’s churning sea.
But I don’t want, o my friends, to die;
I want to live, to think, to suffer.
I know there shall be enjoyments for me
Amid sorrows, cares and anxieties:
At times I again will be intoxicated by harmony,
Weep over my fantasy’s creation,
And perhaps on my sad sunset
Love will shine its farewell smile.
(trans. Leon Aron)
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