1. Death woos me from close at hand,

    and watches me with a sentinel’s gaze.

  2. She unfolds before me a book wherein my life is folded up;

    its script is Time’s, and my gray hairs are its lines.

  3. A book whose meanings are obscure,

    yet plain to every penitent who turns to God.

  4. I see the ages squeezing the sap from my bough,

    though once I was a flourishing, sap-filled stem.

  5. Gray age, my friend, has supplanted my youth,

    and I have been given the hateful in place of the beloved.

  6. My vigor was exchanged for sluggishness,

    and the beauty of fresh radiance for pallor.

  7. So too the sun is overspread with yellow

    when it inclines and bends toward setting.

  8. Armies fight against us that none can match,

    nor can they be met by the lions of war.

  9. They are the decrees of fate and the appointed ends; they come

    and descend upon both patient and physician.

  10. They nock arrows upon a bow unseen,

    and their only targets are hearts.

  11. How, then, can one guard against armies

    reinforced and supplied from the unseen?

  12. I do not grieve for this world, but rather

    for all the sins I have committed.

  13. Oh, my anguish at my long delusion!

    Oh, woe is me for that grievous Day!

  14. If I do not mourn myself and weep

    over my sin with a streaming torrent of tears,

  15. then who is there that, after me, will weep

    for my soul, whether distant or near?

Sol 6.1