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Are you sad passion to find delight:
You pleasantly shedding tears,
Vain flame weary imagination
And in the heart of quiet despair hide.
Trust, not love you, inexperienced dreamer.
Would you, sad feelings seeker,
Suffered a terrible madness of love;
If only the poison it was boiling in your blood:
Whenever in the long hours of a sleepless night,
on the couch, slowly tormented by anguish,
You called deceptive calm,
In vain closing his sorrowful eyes,
Covers of hot sobbing embrace
And sohnul furious fruitless desires, —
Trust, if you had not entertained
Not appreciative of dream!
Not, not! tears fell to the feet
His haughty mistress,
shuddering, pale, ecstatic,
Then you said to b Gods:
“Indulge, gods, my mind clouded,
Take from me this image of the fatal!
I loved pretty; Give me peace!”
But the grim image of love and unforgettable
Would remain forever with you.

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