How many of them have already fallen into this abyss
That gapes in the distance!
The day will come when I too will vanish
From the face of the earth.
All that sang and struggled will grow still,
That shone and strained to break free.
And the green of my eyes, and the tender voice,
And the gold of my hair.
And there will be life with its daily bread,
With the forgetfulness of the day.
And all will be — as though beneath the sky
I had never been!
Changeable, like children, in every look,
And angry for so short a while,
Who loved the hour when the logs in the fireplace
Turn to ash.
The cello, and cavalcades in the thicket,
And the bell in the village…
— Me, so alive and so real
On the gentle earth!
To you all — what are you to me, who knew no measure in anything,
Strangers and my own?! —
I turn with a demand for faith
And with a plea for love.
And day and night, in writing and by word of mouth:
For the truth, for yes and no,
For the fact that so often I am — too sad
And only twenty years old,
For the fact that to me it is a plain necessity —
To forgive offences,
For all my unbridled tenderness
And too proud a look,
For the swiftness of headlong events,
For the truth, for the play…
— Listen! — Love me all the more
Because I will die.