Seclusion by Eduard Mörike

Let, oh world, ah let me be!
  Tempt me not with gifts of pleasure.
  Leave alone this heart to treasure
  All its joy, its misery.

 What my grief I can not say,
  ‘Tis a strange, a wistful sorrow;
  Yet through tears at every morrow
  I behold the light of day.

  When my weary soul finds rest
  Oft a beam of rapture brightens
  All the gloom of cloud, and lightens
  This oppression in my breast.

  Let, oh world, all, let me be!
  Tempt me not with gifts of pleasure.
  Leave alone this heart to treasure
  All its joy, its misery.

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