My day was happy, fortunate my night. br My People loved me when I struck the lyre br Of Poetry. Passion was my song, and fire: br There it kindled many a lovely light. br My summer’s still ablaze but I’ve already br Dragged to the barn the crop I brought to birth – br And now I have to leave all that the Earth br Made so dear to me and loved so dearly! br The instrument sinks from my hand. br The glass breaks in splinters, that to my lips br Overconfidently, I so cheerfully pressed. br Oh God! How deeply bitter dying is! br How sweet and intimate the life of Man, br In this sweet, intimate and earthly nest.