It's boring and sad, and there's no one around
In times of my spirit's travail…
Desires!…What use is our vain and eternal desire?..
While years pass on by - all the best years!
To love…but love whom?.. a short love is vexing,
And permanent love's just a myth.
Perhaps look within? - The past's left no trace:
All trivial, joys and distress…
What good are the passions? For sooner or later
Their sweet sickness ends when reason speaks up;
And life, if surveyed with cold-blooded regard,-
Is stupid and empty - a joke…
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