May 26, 1828

Gift haphazard, unavailing,

Life, why were thou given me?

Why art thou to death unfailing

Sentenced by dark destiny?

Who in harsh despotic fashion

Once from Nothing called me out,

Filled my soul with burning passion

Vexed and shook my mind with doubt?

I can see no goal before me;

Empty heart and idle mind.

Life monotonously o'er me

Roars, and leaves a wound behind.