Anguish

Sun, each evening you weep

Your pretty eyes red,

When, bathing in the mirror of the sea

You are seized by early death.

Yet you rise in all your splendor,

Glory of the gloomy world,

Newly awakening in the morning

Like a proud, victorious hero!

Ah, why should I then lament,

Why, my heart, are you so heavy,

If the sun itself must despair,

If the sun must set?

And if Death gives rise only to Life,

And pain gives way only to bliss,

O how thankful I am, that

Nature gives me such anguish!