Lukewarm in love I never wish to be, --
Cold or burning like a blazing fire!
Oh, joy and sorrow are only colourless, small,
Where love has not taken over the helm!

He who is still in command of his senses, is not truly a suitor;
Throw off from yourself without hesitation all that is yours;
He does not die of love, the half-faithful one,
Who asks more of love than suffering.

Just as a ship, when the weather darkens,
Drifts past precipitous crags in darkest night,
The plaything of wind and waves upon the wide ocean,

Thus on the desolate ocean of my pain
I search, only thinking of new suffering,
In hopelessness for the goal of my happiness.