My life-s burden-s for me light and shone,
I won-t you to be baffled or wound;
And not God, who had thought on a stone -
I do pity the stone he-s found.

I do pity the violet, faded -
Just in vain - just forgot among pages,
And the mist, by which glass has been laden,
Then - dissolved by hot tears for ages.

Not the mad woman-s pain, but the willow
Is awaking my heart-s even sadness,
-Cause, while lulling this pain on leaves- pillows,
It was tired and cut by winds merciless.