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And I don’t know what I think And have no wish to know.
If, after I die, they should want to write my biography, There’s nothing simpler. I’ve just two dates – of my birth, and of my death. In between the one thing and the other all the days are mine.
There’s no resisting The cruel god Who devours forever His own sons.
To those for whom happiness is Their sun, night comes round. But to one who hopes for nothing All that comes is grateful.
The world is for the person who is born to conquer it, And not for the one who dreams he can conquer it, even if he be right.
Do I know whether, As I felt your hand Settle into place Upon my sleeve And a little, a little, In my heart, There was not a new Rhythm in space?
