向史文朋先生道歉。我叹息挣扎求安息;叹息和挣扎都是徒劳;我被困在存在之圈，被困在痛苦之圈。我对生活感到苍白和厌倦;我有病的心恨不得死。我厌倦了女人、战争、大海和狂风的狂呼;我摘下香甜的罂粟花，把它们碾碎，鲜血流得通红，我把它倒在水晶杯里，喝到死。那个人的模子是沉默的，每一部分都没有脉搏，长长的四肢躺在沙滩上，一只鹰在吃他的心脏。让腐烂的脑袋安息，让腐烂的胸膛安息，但对于真正的“我”，诸神并没有下令让它安息; No rest but an endless aching, a sorrow which grows amain:-- I am caught in the Circle of Being and held in the Circle of Pain. Bitter indeed is Life, and bitter of Life the breath, But give me Life and its ways and its men, if this be Death. Wearied I once of the Sun and the voices which clamour'd around: Give them me back--in the sightless depths there is neither light nor sound. Sick is my soul, and sad and feeble and faint as it felt When (far, dim day) in the fair flesh-fane of the body it dwelt. But then I could run to the shore, weeping and weary and weak; See the waves' blue sheen and feel the breath of the breeze on my cheek: Could wail with the wailing wind; strike sharply the hands in despair; Could shriek with the shrieking blast, grow frenzied and tear the hair; Could fight fierce fights with the foe or clutch at a human hand; And weary could lie at length on the soft, sweet, saffron sand. . . I have neither a voice nor hands, nor any friend nor a foe; I am I--just a Pulse of Pain--I am I, that is all I know. For Life, and the sickness of Life, and Death and desire to die;-- They have passed away like the smoke, here is nothing but Pain and I.