Translated by A. Z. Foreman - Poem I: Pleasure Hurts lyrics

Think of a man delighted in his slumber, The foolishness of dream where he resides. Think thus of me: imagination fastens Onto the past where all my joy abides. I know that Grief awaits but do not waver Knowing my certain end lies in her jaws. The things ahead hold nothing but disaster. The better things are nothing but what was. I find myself no lover of the present, But of the past; adore oblivion; There in the thought of yesterday I revel Till grief returns emboldened under dawn. Think of a man condemned to execution So long he's blunted to the bitter lot. Suppose they feed him rumors of a pardon Then have him hanged without another thought. I wish to God my thoughts were like a corpse's, Existence an eternity of sleep, Wretched the man who holds his mind at swordpoint For how it keeps reminding him to weep. And when he begs it for a bit of pleasure It's like a mother when her child in tow, Shunning all milk, howls to be nursed on poison. She doesn't have the sense to answer No. The purest of all pain I'd rather suffer Than try to blend a bit of pleasure too Into the ills that rob the brain of reason, And ache for all the goodness that I knew. Dear Lord! Delight transmuted into sorrow Doubles the torment after rest too brief, Like someone sick who sees too a rich morsel, Eats it and turns his dinner into grief. It's like a hermit long beyond being lonely, Long drained of care for folk, who's ceased to sigh For his companions in the silly city, And now suppose that one of them drops by, Recalls with him the times they spent in leisure: Back to the past the present moments roam. But, soon alone, he grumbles in annoyance. Joy as it leaves tells grief to come on home. Beauty of Prudence: when love starts to age It's chumbled by the worm of being away Unless you turn a constant heart against it And deafer ears to what the jealous say.