Comfort, sweet comfort I seek,
but what is it you give me?
Searching for answers, I’ll pay the fee,
even ‘twere to climb the mountain peak
and find the wise man sitting there.
My offers win me your disdain.
I am cast out into bitter rain.
Once upon a time I knew you fair,
a sweetness, my rapturous joy,
but nothing of you is left here.
I ask myself, why wander in fear?
But all comfort seems to me a ploy.
I know nothing and therefore speak,
trying to find the magic phrase,
something rich out of my raving daze.
But hiding-truth is bashful and meek.
Such unworthy means of search are
insulting the plainness of facts.
So reality now reenacts,
and me, by recollection, does mar.
Romance is poisoned. Yet I know
that healing time will take away
all the pain that over me holds sway,
and so steal from me my cherished woe.
Listen to my beautiful voice: