46. Keep me in your heart when you must go, to that distant land, that strange exile, when no head will rest upon your breast again, where will you stop when you arrive there?
47. Sitting by your tomb with aching heart, as I float away in these two eyes' tears, piercing endless darkness, something speaks at last: nothing is lost—it merely goes ahead.
48. Sleep, beloved! Sleep and set aside your doubt, find rest, let shadow fade, let death recede; let darkness sleep wrapped in its shroud.
49. My sorrow for you runs just as profound as the infinite, undisturbed sleep that fate has given you.
50. The flower that touched the dusty earth before it bloomed— who can tell what hidden anguish lies within?
51. A stranger can speak of such matters, using words of his own; but when a loved one speaks, who carries those words along?
52. O wayfarer, hear me! Go and tell, whisper to the ears of my murderer: by his own hand, I have built a new home among the insects and the grass.
53. Run from sorrow as you will, and you shall lose all comfort in the course. Rather, set it in the master's seat— then sorrow's wealth becomes your eternal dwelling.
54. Only he can speak of death's deep sorrow who loses in untimely death his dearest loved one. If one has not lost, if kinship's death has not burned him— can the thought of death ever disturb his peaceful mind?
55. Those whom no one knows, those unknown to any, when death descends upon them suddenly, those who gather to lay them in the grave's embrace come only when life has ceased its flow. Who is unknown to their own house in life, is known by strangers once they are but corpse.
56. Only love endures— though graves dry up, the world withers, flowers fade and dew disappears, yet what faith binds fast, settles in the heart's frame, a bond undisturbed.
57. Can a person be held back, however many chains the heart may wish to forge? When time comes, even shadow takes its leave— yet in its spell, the human heart still weeps.
58. Can that house remain a home, in which the mother has just died? What is life itself in this world? Only infinite emptiness remains.
59. For so many years I have borne the tempest of sorrows, brother— the ache of despair. Death has freed me at last, and so I sleep now, peacefully, at ease.
60. Beloved child! Why do you writhe beneath the weight of grief like this? Today God has released me from endless pain. Let that be your consolation.