I alone, the Heavens decide, gain full felicity. Pray whither shall I flee my happiness to hide? How fly the crooked thorn that, with malicious spine, is loth to free, untorn, this happy heart of mine? I bear, o'er the blasted heath where Joy doth wings supply, I bear along with my great happiness, to Death my iron laughter, rattle that undismayed doth roll, of deathless joys the chattel; my body and my soul. Quickly the goal I'd reach, softly descend the breeze. My laughter I would teach to the Eumenides. I am happy! I alone this gift from Fate could wring because my lyre has known how to sing everything. |