Was it you, mother, with your tearful song,
was it you who cursed me three years' long
to be a luckless, drifting waif
and meet all those my soul most hates?
Have I drunk away my father's money,
have I torn deep wounds upon your flesh,
that my tender bud of youth, o mother,
in agony should wilt and wither?
My good friends deem me happy
Because I laugh together with them.
They don't know how I rot inside -
How my youth has felt the frost's sting!
How could they know? I have no friend
To confide the secrets of my heart:
Whom I love - what I believe in -
My dreams and thoughts... my suffering.
Besides you there's no one, dear mother -
You are my love and my faith;
But I no longer hope to embrace you here,
My heart turns to ash!
Time and again I've imagined, mother,
that we would find glory and joy together;
I felt so strong - how I aspired -
now dig a grave for my desires
You, forlorn and alone, remain:
may I yet fall in your open arms,
that my soul of torment, heart of pain,
seek from your wretchedness its calm.
Father and sister, and dear brothers
I want to embrace you without hatred,
Then let my veins turn cold -
Then let me rot in the grave!