Silent I sit by the prison’s high window,

Where through the bars the blue heavens are breaking.

Flecks in the azure, the free birds are playing;

Watching them fly there, my shamed heart is aching.

But on my sinful lips never a prayer,

Never a song in the praise of my charmer;

All I recall are far fights and old battles,

My heavy sword and my old iron armor.

Now in stone armor I hopelessly languish,

And a stone helmet my hot head encases,

This shield is proof against arrows and sword-play,

And without whip, without spur, my horse races.

Time is my horse, the swift-galloping charger,

And for a visor this bleak prison grating,

Walls of my prison are heavy stone armor;

Shielded by cast-iron doors, I am waiting.

Hurry, oh fast-flying Time, fly more quickly!

In my new armor I faint, I am choking.

I shall alight, with Death holding my stirrup,

Then my cold face from this visor uncloaking.