My soul was a burden, bruised and bleeding. It was tired of the man who carried it, but I found no place to set it down to rest. Neither the charm of the countryside nor the sweet scents of a garden could soothe it. It found no peace in song or laughter, none in the company of friends at a table or in the pleasures of love, none even in books or poetry.Where could my heart find refuge from itself? Where could I go, yet leave myself behind?