Don't ask me, why with the doleful,
With dismal thoughts among the funs
I'm burdened;
Why I take a look, being dejected;
Why sweet life,
As dream has gone in vain; Don't ask,
Why by my soul chilled I've distasted love
And nobody could be called 'my darling', thus;
Who once had loved, would never fall in love again;
Who was such happy, never will accept
This one, oh, no. for only a moment
The seventh heaven is: Lo!
From youth, from pleasures, from voluptuousness
There remains only the spirit low...
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I would like to translate this poem