Banknotes attract, promise prosperity,
They orient the choice of profession.
Toward a life in New York or in Chicago,
If not in Germany, then at least in Greece.

The calling somehow pays no mind to money.
On the contrary, it leaves you with a sack —
The artist in rags tends to the spiritual,
Neglects the bodily, yet with a proud bearing.

Duties press, and you strain toward freedom,
To rule, to serve — two aims.
Like a fish from under the ice gasping for air, you struggle
To care for the body and save the soul.