Amfortas

I am cleaved like Charles of Burgundy,
For my desires have rent me in two.
Why must I lack certainty?

This I know the answer to:
I am a man feeling nature’s shove.
Is this what I must rue?

Yet I yearn for the freedom of angels above
Who pray and play without intrusion
Is this inner burning true love?

Besieged by inward confusion
To remain here, yet also to see Heaven’s rays—
Is this of God, or an illusion?

Seeking neither pity nor praise
Let me await happier days.