Why are you weeping still, my heart
haven't you enough bled?
tears I can't bear any longer
you should not further shed--
I'm sinking, dying before my time
the flower of my youth has hardly blown
nine symphonies, six hundred songs
my 'Winterreise' and ' Die Schone Mullerin'--yet I moan
for fate has its cruelty upon me inflicted
I have so much more that does await
its glory and beauty to unfold in bright sunlight
but night descends and my life has nothing to celebrate
save the ruins of sorrows and heartaches
that all my dreams and hopes do destroy
if there were ever any redemption after I'm gone
it would be my songs that would bring me eternal joy.
Our ills are not cured by education--the learned suffer like the common folk, perhaps even more acutely.
On the common platform of suffering, we are all the same.
What will save us in the end is humility and acceptance
which transcends all learning ands binds mankind together
in its darkest hours.