Burdens of grief that weigh against me

aid my tired eyes in their search for pitch

your kind heart now pines for whom the God's love 

dies young wrapped and confounded in a thousand fears

the sadness I present, smiles with tears

where once I'd loved now lied forlorn beauty

and wars abhorred by mothers



No man lives so poor as he was born

we don't remember pure sensations

gaze peacefully into the past

I am dust, and to dust I shall return

Belial, Mephisto, both shall burn me up

devour my sad whimpering

the cutting whip is mine to feel

no symphony in mind to colour my dreams



Poena damni, sorrow everywhere

please pray for me when deep sleep falls on men

father, hold me, I am yours to bear, ad te



In the play which he has written for the world

night is the mother of sleep

old age is a malady of which one dies

augury of a better age sages as far as the beard

their wounds smelled so sweetly

temptation, the father of my lust

chalcedony shines like the new born



Stricken I'd raise my dripping limbs, splendid was the innocents' fall

laugh to scorn would our foe, amid wars laws are silent

drop by drop in sleep upon the heart

falls the laborious memory of pain

in the rich upheaval of vast choirs, death shall flee from me