You are silent and suffer it, for they do not understand you,
  You noble life! you look down and fall silent
    On the beautiful day, for ah! only in vain
      Do you seek your own in the sunlight,

The noble ones, who, like brethren nevertheless,
  As the comradely treetops of a grove once
    Rejoiced in love and homeland and
      Their ever-embracing sky,

In their resounding breast still recalling the origin;
  The grateful ones, they, them I mean, who alone faithful
    Brought joy all the way down into Tartarus,
      The free ones, the god-people,

The tenderly great souls, who no longer exist;
  For over them yet weeps, as long the year of mourning
    Already endures, daily reminded by
      The former stars, the heart,

And this dirge, it does not rest.
  But time heals. The heavenly ones are now strong,
    Are quick. Does Nature not once more 
      Seize her old joyful due?

See, ere yet our hill, oh love, sinks,
  It shall happen, and yea! my mortal song shall still see
    The day, Diotima! that calls your name next to those of the gods
      And those of heroes, and that is like you.