Living Death

I do not feel glad when
Fair, sunlit springtide comes,
I feel not sad when all
To winter's frost succumbs.
As o'er an autumn eve
Had come a mist all dense,
Over my heart had come
A cold indifference.
I am all through with them:
The foe. the friend, the mate,

'Tis nobody I. love,
'Tis nobody I hate-

I have not a pleasure,

No woe o'er which to weep,
All sentiments, all aims,
I've put them all to sleep.

One only yearning is
Awake within my breast:

As soon as possible

Within my grave to rest