In vain do I stretch out my arms toward her when I awaken in the morning
from my weary slumbers. In vain do I seek for her at night in my bed,
when some innocent dream has happily deceived me, and placed her near me
in the fields, when I have seized her hand and covered it with countless
kisses. And when I feel for her in the half confusion of sleep, with the
happy sense that she is near, tears flow from my oppressed heart; and,
bereft of all comfort, I weep over my future woes.