I’m through with life – no sweet desires,
I’ve ceased to love my happy dreams;
All’s left to me is pain and anguish dire
The fruits of emptiness that dwells in me.

In storms and tempests of this cruel fate
Alas, my blooming crown has faded thus –
And living now alone, disconsolate I am,
And wait: when end to suffering will come.

Thus hit with cold so slow to come
In piercing squeal of wintry storm,
Clinging alone to bare branch
A quivering leaf will soon be gone!

1821