In praise of sorrow

O do not revile the sorrows of life!

Look at the leaves: when they die,

is not the golden light of autumn

richer than when tinged by Spring?

What can compare to the blossom of loss

in the October breeze?

More crystalline than the clearest waters

are eyes with glistening, streaming tears;

Twilight glows with a profounder, darker gleam

than the sun does when it is high and bright in the sky;

and no one kisses with such ardent kisses

as when one must depart forever.