Exile, what is it, can he know who has not been driven
Out to some aloof land? O exile, days of unbroken
Sunset, unbroken distances, days sunk in misery!
And the years go by, years of sorrow, years of powerty.
In a desert dryness, it is the mind’s waterlessness,
It is both the yearning to fall asleep and sleeplessness.
It is that stealthiest of torments, time that will not move on,
It is the exixtence of a thousand wrongs, pardon withdrawn.
The pain of loneliness is farr worse than any torture;
Yet this man, overcome by it, to be broken must endure.