Roland

I have nothing but my sorrow and I want nothing more.
It has been, it still is, faithful to me.
Why should I begrudge it, since during the hours
when my soul crushed the depths of my heart,
it was seated there beside me?
O sorrow, I have ended, you see, by respecting you,
because I am certain you will never leave me.
Ah! I realize it: your beauty lies in the force of your being.
You are like those who never left
the sad fireside corner of my poor black heart.
O my sorrow, you are better than a well-beloved;
because I know that on the day of my final agony,
you will be there, lying in my sheets, O sorrow,
so that you might once again attempt to enter my heart.