Neither foolish joy,
Nor positive sadness—
And, my dear, do not trust
In tender songs.
In quiet old age
Or boisterous youth,
Stronger than everyone else
Is the restless beast.
I confess:
Don\'t hide from conscience:
Doubts are abandoned,
I toss and turn like a wounded king.
I confess:
There is more curiosity in us,
Than genuine, good feelings.
And I sang songs,
And cherished all your dreams,
But—full of envy,
But—full of vanity,—
I scattered all your hope in a bim
Like a dandelion
On sunny days pretty…
Forgive me…
To stand once more before
Your clear eyes—
It is torment and dread for me!
I did not know how
To love you
As clearly,
As your pure eyes
Are open now.
Forgive me!
Do not reproach me for leaving.
Or perhaps...
Am I truly is been blame?
Better to endure
Hardship for half a year appearing,
Than to live each day
In a web of lie game!