How I Loathe these Days Full of Sun

How I loathe these days full of sun,
Of the sun itself, that does not wish to set;
And if it were Night, I would stand next to him
And say now: Friend, it is true that my life first

Began here, everything that I then dreamed up
Was a lie, what I said about the sun delusion.

And of pleasure and love,—but, very well,
Forgive me that I so foolishly could stray.

Then for each, sweet intercourse of sorrow would be
Most intimate, as with souls, now unburdened
By pride and vanity and petty interest;—

And for each would be as if next to him walked
His own soul, at the end completely understood,
Naked and glorious, of same and equal rank