When you are standing on my path,
So full of life, so full of beauty,
And yet so wearied,
You only talk about sad things,
You only think about death,
You do not love a soul,
And you despise your beauty –
What then? Could I offend you?
O, no! I’m not an oppressor,
Not a deceiver or an arrogant man,
Although I know quite a lot,
And I think too much since my youth,
And I’m too occupied with myself.
You see, I’m – a writer,
A man, who calls everything by its name,
And steals the aroma from a living flower.
Just don’t talk about sad things,
Or reflect on endings and new beginnings,
I still dare to think,
That you are only fifteen years old.
And for this reason I’d like it,
If you could fall in love with a simple person,
One, who loves the earth and the sky more than
The rhyming or non-rhyming words about the earth and the sky.
Truly, I’ll be happy for you,
Since - only the one who’s in love
Has the right to be called a human.
February 6, 1908