Lying in me, as though it were a white 
Stone in the depths of a well, is one 
Memory that I cannot, will not, fight: 
It is happiness, and it is pain. 
Anyone looking straight into my eyes 
Could not help seeing it, and could not fail 
To become thoughtful, more sad and quiet 
Than if he were listening to some tragic tale. 

I know the gods changed people into things, 
Leaving their consciousness alive and free. 
To keep alive the wonder of suffering, 
You have been metamorphosed into me.