Fearing No Insult, Asking For No Crown,

My Dreams, My Dreams! What Has Become Of Their Sweetness? What Indeed Has Become Of My Youth?

If You But Knew The Flames That Burn In Me Which I Attempt To Beat Down With My Reason.

As Long As There Is One Heart On Earth Where I Still Live, My Memory Will Not Die.

I Have Outlasted All Desire, My Dreams And I Have Grown Apart; My Grief Alone Is Left Entire, The Gleamings Of An Empty Heart. The Storms Of Ruthless Dispensation Have Struck My Flowery Garland Numb, I Live In Lonely Desolation And Wonder When My End Will Come. Thus On A Naked Tree-limb, Blasted By Tardy Winter's Whistling Chill, A Single Leaf Which Has Outlasted Its Season Will Be Trembling Still.

Please, Never Despise The Translator. He's The Mailman Of Human Civilization.