Ja, du bist elend, und ich grolle nicht

Yes, thou art wretched, and I do not mourn;
Wretched, my love, it seems we both must be!
Until in death the weary heart is torn,
Wretched, my love, it seems we both must be!

I see the scorn that on thy lips doth ride,
I see the courage in thy flashing eye;
I see thy bosom heave with quenchless pride —
Yet thou are wretched, wretched even as I.

Thy lips contract with unseen wounds and pain,
And secret tears bedim the eyes I see;
Thy haughty bosom bears the hidden bane —
Wretched, my love, it seems we both must be.