THAT IS MY SORROW
That is my sorrow, that I learned to play
In all too many painted masques, to sway
But all too well the truth as seen
By others and myself. No gentle feeling
Stirs in me, no music reeling
Whose ways and ends are not routine.
I must call that my lament
Myself to know my innermost intent
Foreknowing every pulse's toll
That not a nightmare's admonition
No joy's nor grieving's precognition
Still manages to stir my soul.
Hermann Hesse (trans. J. Fiederer)
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