少年维特的烦恼 英文版 The Sorrows of Young Werther
歌德 Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
AUGUST 30.
Unhappy being that I am! Why do I thus deceive myself? What isto come of all this wild, aimless, endless passion? I cannot prayexcept to her. My imagination sees nothing but her: all surroundingobjects are of no account, except as they relate to her. In thisdreamy state I enjoy many happy hours, till at length I feelcompelled to tear myself away from her. Ah, Wilhelm, to whatdoes not my heart often compel me! When I have spent several hoursin her company, till I feel completely absorbed by her figure, hergrace, the divine expression of her thoughts, my mind becomesgradually excited to the highest excess, my sight grows dim, myhearing confused, my breathing oppressed as if by the hand of amurderer, and my beating heart seeks to obtain relief for my achingsenses. I am sometimes unconscious whether I really exist. Ifin such moments I find no sympathy, and Charlotte does not allowme to enjoy the melancholy consolation of bathing her hand withmy tears, I feel compelled to tear myself from her, when I eitherwander through the country, climb some precipitous cliff, or forcea path through the trackless thicket, where I am lacerated andtorn by thorns and briers; and thence I find relief. Sometimes Ilie stretched on the ground, overcome with fatigue and dying withthirst; sometimes, late in the night, when the moon shines aboveme, I recline against an aged tree in some sequestered forest, torest my weary limbs, when, exhausted and worn, I sleep till breakof day. O Wilhelm! the hermit's cell, his sackcloth, and girdleof thorns would be luxury and indulgence compared with what I suffer.Adieu! I see no end to this wretchedness except the grave.