FORTUNE, YOU HAVE NAUGHT I NEED
FORTUNE, you have naught I need;
Fame cannot appease me;
Flowery beds grow but a weed;
Laughter cannot please me.
Lovely roses win no smile,
From my drooping spirit;
Larks a song may sing the while,
I will never hear it.
Music rich, on which I throve,
Leaves me worn and weary;
Softest tunes of vernal grove
Seem so trite and dreary.
I am hard to please, I know,
Nothing wins my pleasure;
Let the golden rivers flow,
I disdain their treasure.
Heaven itself may shine in vain,
It will cheer me never,
Let it glow, or blow, or rain,
Crack, and timbers sever.
Let me seek the fallow way,
Hating mirth and sorrow,
Wanting not this dreary day,
Give me bright tomorrow!
Hours are without number;
Wakeful night in its slow flight,
Rids me of my slumber.
Weary, weary world, ah! me,
What is that I cry for?
Only love to come to me—
That is what I sigh for!
Only Hebe, lovely one,
She of loves the rarest—
Give me my beloved sun,
Light to me the fairest!