Thinking the road was straight,
I ended up in such misfortune,
that I cannot imagine, even in madness,
anything that will satisfy me for a moment.
The wide field seems narrow to me,
the clear night is dark to me;
sweet company, bitter and harsh,
and the bed a hard battlefield.
Of sleep, if there is any, that lonely part
which is the image of death,
is congenial to the weary soul.
In short, I am so clever,
that I now judge myself less strong for an hour,
although I saw myself in it, which is past.
With such force and vigor are the harsh winds concerted
for my downfall,
that cut short my tender thoughts
as soon as they were revealed to me.
The trouble is that my worries remain
except for these events,
which are harsh, and have well-founded
foundations in all my senses.
Although on the other hand I don't grieve,
since the good has left me with his departure,
from the grave evil that continually dwells within me,
rather, I embrace him and find solace;
because in the process of such a hard life,
I have cut across the long road.
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