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    The soul is now seeking refuge; unbelievers harm it, slaps tear it to pieces, for it is different in everything, even in its separateness. At rest, in thy sweetheart's tender, forgiving lap, Thou canst not sit: outside, envious and malicious eyes watch thy loneliness! The prison webs of earth are closed round thee, choking.

    Tearing, grasping hands in each other's hair Tear the onions of new life's bulbs to tears: a man is broken for his lightness, And carelessness has trampled him down to nothing, And now Nothing is his eternal companion, And suffers his heart to tear! - Into the mire of disgust and helplessness I am buried! 

    They will defile you too! They will lie to thee with friendly, sweet-sounding truths, and they will be one upon the other, the smallest of dust-meal-brethren! - The soul now seeks shelter; unbelieving scoundrels do it harm. It desires contentment, harmony, and silence, that the stream of life may flow on again with a clean slate. Let his face be caressed by redeeming feminine hands while he may! 

    Only his sweetheart alone would hold his wavering conviction: His star of fortune, thought lost, has not been sacrificed, and he lets fall to its atomic nuclei the universe that has long since embraced his desires.

    - And with the ancient sins of uncertainty you look on. Unpredictable ignorance patiently crushes every shred of your sanity! You contemplate your eternal immortality and the changing nature, as if you were already a tiny link in the chain of the end of the world!

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