Alas, my maiden! You were purity and grace's name,
And brought sweet innocence to hearts consumed by flame.
Why did stern Time deal cruelly, though your nest was secure,
Among companions, kin, and friends who should make life endure?
Tell me—has mercy fled from every gentle heart,
Or does the well brim only with the cruel and dark?
How many a friend once hoped, then proved a traitor's part,
After you trusted him and walked beside him from the start.
Time bared its hidden secrets, laid them bare to every eye,
Wretched she who trusts her secret to a stranger standing by!
Life is stingy with its good, O maiden fair and bright,
A sea made foul by all mankind—its depths return but plight.
Upon its shores the hearts groan from a grievous wound,
Eyes weep the tears of hearts forsaken by fair Fortune soon.
Some search for a companion to share the pilgrim road,
While others roam the earth in heedless, unrestrained mode.
Some sing beside the garden blooms in melody so fair,
Some seek only a drink to quench the burning thirst they bear.
When clouds mass thick with thunder and with storm on high,
And Fate opens its maw, and the maiden is tossed to die,
Time mocks, and men like doves' swift messengers appear,
While flood-tide swallows life's shores in vengeance and in fear.
O Time, enough of cruelty—be kind to beauty's form,
She who bestows on life its grace and perfection's norm.
Yesterday how many youths bowed low before her face,
Today all creatures turn away from her diminished grace.
She rose on them at dawn like some new god revealed,
Lord of delights, charms, passions, and the lyric ode concealed.
This goddess—how deny her, base, atheist, unrevealed?
How many worshippers fell down to take from her their yield!
They thronged around their goddess, lips in hymn's sweet field,
Yet once they drank their fill, they dropped both prayer and plea.
O Time, exalt her spirit—for in it art's secrets run,
She conquered interlopers, every faction of the undone.
Would that your fortune, maiden, had shown clear in heaven's sphere,
Had you entrusted your heart—what cunning might appear!
You would have lived your days guarded by merciful hearts,
And fought injustice in these souls of ruthless, cruel parts.
And still resound across the landmarks of life's empty ways,
Music whose notes melt even the hardest hearts always.
And womanhood's fair phantoms endure in splendour's stead,
Perfuming all the air with fragrance blessed instead.
O Time, those fervid thoughts lie scattered everywhere,
Like scrolls of leaves in autumn's passing, restless air.
Sometimes gathered when the wind's wild forces spare,
But when assault is granted in oppression's open lair,
She mourns when cruel Time has cast her to despair,
Across the desert in the wind's breath, heaps of sand she bear.
And still she falls in pits like wandering sand,
Then rises toward the passing clouds across the land!
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