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Translated by Andrey Kneller
Don't ask me why alone in dismal thought
In times of mirth, I'm often filled with strife,
And why my weary stare is so distraught,
And why I don't enjoy the dream of life;
Don't ask me why my soul has slowly perished
And ceased to love the love that pleased me then
No longer can I call someone —“my cherished”—
Who once has loved will never love again;
Who once felt bliss, no more will feel its essence,
A moment's happiness is all that we receive:
From youth, prosperity and joyful pleasance
All that is left is apathy and grief...
I've lived to see desire vanish. . . .
I've lived to see desire vanish,
With hope I've slowly come to part,
And I am left with only anguish,
The fruit of emptiness at heart.
Under the storms of merciless fate,
My worn and withered garland lies—
In sadness, lonesome, I await:
How far away is my demise?
Thus, conquered by a tardy frost,
Through gale's whistling and shimmer,
Late, on a naked limb exposed
A lonesome leaf is left to quiver