Longing for sleep, to lethargy resigned,
embracing shadows, chasing summer’s breeze,
I swim in boundless and unfathomed seas.
I plough the waves, I build on sand, write on the wind.
Fixated on the sun, I have gone blind
with staring at its brightness; and astride
an ailing, ambling, crippled ox I ride
to hunt a fugitive and wandering hind.
Alive to nothing but my state of woe
(trembling, I actively desire the pain),
to none but Love, Death and my Lady I appeal.
Twenty long, weary years I’ve suffered so.
Tears, sighs and grief have been my only gain.
Ill-starred, I took the bait; and still the hook I feel!
