I roused my heart after it had been bound,And watched for solace's elusive sound;
How many nights I spent in bitter grief,Hoping for kindness from a brother's relief;
I wove my poems from the stars on high,And reeled from loneliness my echoes' cry;
Would that I could ignore what has becomeSo widespread in the atmosphere of home;
Alas for sorrow's fire—for it will growUntil it burned my inmost parts below;
Poetry's eyes wept blood for my estate,Till they had watered dear friend's heart sedate;
Heart's anguish grows with solitude's embrace,My life became the image of disgrace;
Were it not for restraint and wisdom's guide,I'd be a ghost whom cruel fortunes hide;
Ah, would my sigh could quench the burning brandWhose flame consumes the embers of my hand.