I deprecate all good or ill,
And only wish for endless sleep.
For who, I ask, has set my feet
In all these dark and troubled ways?
And who denies my soul's desire,
When with its might it cries and prays?
In my unconscious veins there runs
Perchance, some old ancestral taint;
In Eve I sinned: poor Eve and I!
We each may utter one complaint:—