I dreamt of my daughter.
She came and stroked my forelock with her hand.
— Oh you have been away for long! — se told me,
The child cast her glance right into my soul.
My head was going round for joy,
I hugged my little one, and my heart was singing,
And I thought: this is
Love and anguish that have gone to the limits!
Then we sailed across flower seas
Together, walking in the meadows;
Bright and free spilled the dawn,
And then the joy of life I knew again.
I woke up. As before, I am in prison,
And the gloomy cell is the same,
And the same chains, and in the gloom
The same sorrow is standing on guard.
Why do I consider my dreams to be my life?
Why does the cell spoil the world in such a way, that
Pain and sorrow are tormenting me when I'm awake,
And joy comes only in my dreams?