A Poem

This poem is from the book Don Quijote by Miguel De Cervantes.
This poem describes some of what has been in my mind, as of lately.
So, I can directly relate to this.
Listen...

Just as everything fades away
In the end, so Fortune's favors
Ebbed and died, trickled slowly,
To nothing, shaded
And forever old.
I've groveled here at Fortune's feet
For centuries, praying for grace;
Oh let me see some newborn sweetness
Shine in her face,
Rise up complete.
I long for nothing more, no glory,
No joy, no other victory,
No burning triumph, no eternal story,
But only the history
That was, and destroyed me.
Fortune, oh let me be there again,
And soon, and this searing heat,
This pressing pain, will be soothed and the end
Will be endlessly sweet
And all complete.
But I want too much, for nothing and no one
Can restore what's disappeared;
Time never turns, it's never been done;
No past reappears,
No history draws near.
Time runs and leaps, flies quickly by,
And never turns back, and we're wrong
To beg it to stop, to return: the sky
Of yesterday is gone
Like yesterday's song.
My life is perpetual confusion, hoping
And fearing, first hope, then fear
Forever believing that Death's stern joke
Is better than tears
Over long-dread years.
But still, as I long for this to be done,
I know that what I possess
Is better than anything yet to be won
In that unknown emptiness
Still to come.