Classic Poem

Where do I come from? ... Seek out
the roughest, most horrible path:
the prints of feet bloodied
on hard rock;
the tattered remnants of a soul
laid bare by thorny bramble
will show you the way
that leads to my cradle.

Where am I going? ... Pass through
the saddest, most somber wilderness;
a valley of eternal snow and of eternal
melancholy mists.
There where you find a solitary stone
without any inscription,
where oblivion dwells,
there my tomb will be.