Plod earnestly along a narrow path Sorrowful; wiping tears but they burst forth
Just evening, things are lost in the gray shadow Then gold suddenly fly asunder around In a broad expanse of mustard flowers by meadow Getting a scattered gold in my hand
Throwing it, throwing it into the sky, I walk
It may be as well as the spring of my youth, Now vanishes like a very ghost
Plod earnestly along a narrow path Sorrowful; wiping tears but they burst forth