Not in calm
groves, not in games and music, nor in fragrant spots, nor in
curious banquetings, nor in the pleasures of the bed and the couch;
nor (finally) in books or poesy, found it repose. All things looked
ghastly, yea, the very light; whatsoever was not what he was, was
revolting and hateful, except groaning and tears. For in those alone
found I a little refreshment. But when my soul was withdrawn from them
a huge load of misery weighed me down. To Thee, O Lord, it ought to
have been raised, for Thee to lighten; I knew it; but neither could
nor would; the more, since, when I thought of Thee, Thou wert not to
me any solid or substantial thing. For Thou wert not Thyself, but a
mere phantom, and my error was my God. If I offered to discharge my
load thereon, that it might rest, it glided through the void, and came
rushing down again on me; and I had remained to myself a hapless spot,
where I could neither be, nor be from thence. For whither should my
heart flee from my heart? Whither should I flee from myself? Whither
not follow myself? And yet I fled out of my country; for so should
mine eyes less look for him, where they were not wont to see him.
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