Basta. Where we do not (№ 216613)

It is good there where we are not,
There are in fact eternal summer, and the house in bad weather.
Oh, grief, what not in money happiness,
And then I two times could happiness be stolen.
And tearing to pieces, as if a hundred through
And let the wind I that stole from the Treasury.
In exile wanted my heart deeply buried,
The gardens of Paradise there, Yes, but I have still the volume.