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