Beautiful are pearly drops on a sunny day
When they shine in the arches of gold,
Yet in sorry weather, on damp windows, they
Dread like drops of black autumn's mould.
People are happy in oblivion; (I was told)
Their stature in the eyes of the others
Matters not, nor do the awards of this world.
(Are people living here, or yonder? I wonder.)
The drops of autumn flood hearts, veins,
And souls with sadness; they wander
While they quietly glide on the window panes,
What fun they seek, what joy? I wonder...
Unhappy people, crushed by life, often foul
Their future with soul-pains of old times,
If joy relieves sadness and heals the soul,
Why they recall the sad, not the happy times?