My monastery, where I’m badly pining,
Is granite, melted by the burning mind.
I’m strangled and blinded under this heat, lying,
And leave it, trying a new cell to find…
There’ll be still heat, but one that’s always warming.
The bloody ball will melt my brain to ash,
I’ll lose my mind in ways, the more calming,
Than in this one, oppressing blood and flesh.
Where’s the new cell? Where is my cloister, novel?
Not on the skies, the grave’s darkness behind,
But on the Earth it’s healthy one and low,
Where I’ll find all, when having lost my mind!…