O evening star, have pity for my breast is torn with grief;'
Hold back the flood! it gushes forth in tears from my eyes.
Remember me among the stars and pray for me; perhaps peace will find me.
I have lived among yearings, their visions seducing my soul with barren delusions.
I pursue them, my heart in my hands; i turn, amd in my hands are fragments.
what dream have i cast of gold that fire of passing days did not melt.
Or hope woven from threads of light on which dark did not fall?
what lute have I borne for pleasure whose strings pain has not snapped?
Or song have i played for solace not muddied by love's lament?
what cup have I raised to my lips whose wine has not bittered to colocynth?
Or heart in which I have melted mine that has not betrayed my trust?
What vision have I held in sleep that has not left, werathed in my flowering tears?
Or joy planted within my breast that was not eaten by decay?
Would that I knew-down following night-when a smile will follow tears.
My life was squandered pursing traces left by feet upon the shore.
I have lived, building upon sand; and what founded on sand can endure?