The First Symphony Don't Blame Not The Pen for Writing. Este artículo no está disponible.The First Symphony Don't Blame Not The Pen for Writing

Oh, just tell me what place you are going,

So, I will come fast, much faster than lightning,

Or like horses that cause chaos and clamor,

Or thrilled with wine, like a drunk in summer.

No longer can I be a heavy drunk as before,

With love, nor carry my frail body anymore.

It sways all the time as it carries my soul

That groans for your absence from me, that’s all.

The music I have heard with you, still in my ear,

Resounds and screams, and this I can’t bear.