My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle,
And have come to an end without hope;[204]
Remember, I pray, that my life is wind,
That mine eye shall see good no more.
XLIX
As the cloud is dispelled and vanisheth away,
So he that goes down to the grave shall not come up again;
He shall never return to his house,
Neither shall his place know him any more.
L
I too will not restrain my mouth,
I will speak out in the bitterness of my soul.
Am I a sea or a sea-monster,[205]
That thou settest a watch over me?
LI
When I say: "My bed shall comfort me,
My couch shall ease my complaint;"
Then thou scarest me with dreams,
And terrifiest me with visions.
LII
Then my soul would have chosen strangling,
And death by my own resolve:
But I spurned it, for I shall not live for ever;
Let me be, for my days are a breath.