But what use is it to hold on
So dearly to a memory
Which, as a guest in my heart, gnaws at [me]1
And leaves me always in 
A reverie, like a man who dreams.

It’s not me, it’s you my heart
Who, to lengthen my languishing,
Bear yourself disloyally towards me,
And to make a thought my conqueror
At night you open my doors to it.

You cannot pretend
That you don’t come to abuse me,
And aren’t wrongly opposed to me,
You who want to deny my part
To support my adversary.

But to whom ought I to trust myself,
When I see myself weak and bound
By my own people, who come to take me
To be made the prisoner
Of those who should defend me.

This thought would not have stayed with me
If it had not trafficked with you;
O heart, leave your old place,
Since you have broken your oath
I want to break mine too.

So go, if you don’t wish to die
The death that they made the soldier
Die, who broke his empty oath
To go like a traitor and help
The enemy of his captain.