Without you everything is different

 
 
In your narrow almond-shaped arc you carried your cruel impulses: what what have I done?! Now tell me! - Tell me, with murderous confidence, the straining sparks of conscience! - No doubt, while thy angel-eye could not adopt as mother thy feral silence of loneliness. In my heart, too, happiness seemed to perish, And my clownish smile could be but a disguise. 
Gloria, with her merciful majesty, kept me from suicide: My hopeless despondency at last to overcome, 
 
But the showers of showers would not let me: they stayed and grew And the mixture of my own eager and selfish self-pity, And I dared with increasing difficulty to believe that thy balmy, balmy laughter was ever a remedy for my broken wounds. It would have begun with you: My calm and warlike My harmony with peace! 
 
Into my dark pessimistic soul you would have secretly and unconsciously your unselfish and ever ready to help priceless heart's plea: "Only just a little longer, my dear." - Help and salvation are at hand! - Cheap, A vain and vain fantasy. The existence promised of happiness, that may never be fulfilled, that may never be, that may never be, may never be, cast off its earthly, shackling burdens, is no more: in thy heart, with blind faithfulness of heart, thou hast sold thy immortal revelation, thy kisses, and, as Phaon's love, thou hast reserved suicide for another!