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Fernando Pessoa - Sonnet XXXV
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Good. I have done. My heart weighs. I am sad.
The outer day, void statue of lit blue,
Is altogether outward, other, glad
At mere being not-I (so my aches construe).
I, that have failed in everything, bewail
Nothing this hour but that I have bewailed,
For in the general fate what is`t to fail?
Why, fate being past for Fate, `tis but to have failed.
Whatever hap-or stop, what matters it,
Sith to the mattering our will bringeth nought?
With the higher trifling let us world our wit,
Conscious that, if we do`t, that was the lot
  The regular stars bound us to, when they stood
  Godfathers to our birth and to our blood.
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