I want to be a hermit,
to see, I want to be a hermit.
To try out a new way of life
I want to change my clothes,
because by my appearance
they won’t know how I live:
to see,
I want to be a hermit.
My clothing will be such
that they remark on my suffering:
it’ll be the outfit of my troubles,
the colour of loyalty,
and the braid of torment:
to see, I want to be a hermit.

I’ll lead such a terrible life
that it’ll be worse than death,
so that they do not suspect
that I live in any other way,
and I’ll have no pleasure:
to see, I want to be a hermit.

I will mooch about
worn down by care,
by day in the wilderness,
by night in the villages;
and so I want to die:
to see, I want to be a hermit.

Perhaps by a stroke of luck,
trailing from door to door,
I’ll see the lovely face
of she who makes my life death.
If she answered the door,
to see, I want to be a hermit.

The secret sighs
I’ve silenced for my suffering
will now be found
in the guise of a hermit.
Win or lose:
to see, I want to be a hermit.

Those who see me will think
I sigh from poverty.
She who my eyes long to see
will understand my sadness.
She will let me know:
to see, I want to be a hermit.

O what happiness
my heart would feel
if my dreams were fulfilled
by adopting such a guise!
I’ll do all I can
to see, I want to be a hermit.