O'er thee, Misfortune, I have ceased to wail, <br />I'll utter no reproaches any more. <br />Thank God, I'm used to griefs thou hast in store <br />And to the sufferings in life's strong jail. <br /> <br />No burden can now hurt my shoulders frail; <br />My lips are used to bitter drinks of yore; <br />My feet, like leather, are no longer sore, <br />I dread no thorny path, no irksome trail. <br /> <br />Stiff are my limbs and joints as if confined. <br />My heart, once sensitive, is hard as stone, <br />The claims of sorrow have subdued my mind. <br /> <br />All fear is fled; with it all hopes have flown. <br />Should Fate caress or beat me, it will find <br />Insensibility of flesh and bone.<br /><br />France Preseren<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/o-er-thee-misfortune-i-have-ceased-to-wail/
