Hinaus, hinaus ...
My sight grows dim
My hearing confused
My breathing oppressed as
If by the hand of a murderer
I either wander through
Climb some precipitous cliff
Force a path through
The trackless thicket
I lie stretched with fatigue
And dying in the night
The moon shines above me
In some sequestered forest
Durch die Dornen,
Die mich zerreißen
Torn by thorns
Hermit’s cell, his sackcloth
And girdle of thorns
Would be indulgence
Compared with what I suffer
Adieu!
I see no end to this except the grave
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