PENDULTY LETTER

I, the melancholy Don Quixote-born of this land, still look with doubt to the uncertain future! I leave my miserable life to the fate of men - The trustworthy sacred law of the stars, may guide and guide my life. I'm distressed if I must several times a day - for I seldom am - in flaming happiness I would seek to be renewed in changing days.

For every human gesture is different, and every truth-telling look is a superstitious look, if it be true and sincere. To him only who feels the inner Calvary of his conscience with a beating heart, can the secret of my wounded soul be revealed crystal clear! My haunted, watchful-colonial past, once closed for ever, by a snarling, growling dog. My first grievance, that pearls of true tears Pergett'd beneath with aching, feverish thrill I roam within.

Will my darling's misguided holy yearning still be heard? And like a lightning of a decisive moment, sparks are scattered in me by the meek realization: have I missed my true and lasting friendships for ever?! - For now all would serve my ever-thinking, productive present; with a mournful, lonely death-cry the raven-song that greets the passing of time scratches its pithy notes!

The rich and rich visions of my memories Thickens the palpable silence! A rare joy-joy-joy and old potted sorrow quivering sounds. Like the years in the tree, the rings of ages fruitfully growing, I try to gather the strange layers of my self into a single, inner space. In times of gloomy climes even loneliness greets me differently.

My stubborn, obstinate being would rush towards motherly caring laps, more and more keenly and helplessly, for lights: longing for universal safety like a magnet - and because no one does now, I encourage myself with seemingly determined will; I grow bitter-sweetly still for fiercer days!