All things are happy in the sun’s caress.
But in my heart, in my unhappy heart,
The icy blast of winter still persists,
And desolation reigns.
Your frown obliterates the sun for me,
And your indifference is worse than death.
And in my heart, in my unhappy heart,
Dire desolation reigns.
IX
This is the tale of an unhappy sculptor,