How can I live with this burden —
And yet she’s called The Muse.
“She’s with you in a meadow … ,” they say.
They say, “Divine muttering!”
She’ll seize you worse than a fever
And then, for an entire year, nothing at all.
Как и жить мне с этой обузой,
А ещё называют Музой,
Говорят: «Ты с ней на лугу…»
Говорят: «Божественный лепет…»
Жёстче, чем лихорадка, оттреплет,
И опять весь год ни гу-гу.
«O’er the world’s plain that stretches vastly, sadly, / Three hidden springs mysteriously flow; / The fount of youth — a spring that surges madly, / Whose waters murmuring and sparkling go; / Castalia’s fount whose wave of inspiration / Sings where the exiles o’er the desert press...»
«When trade and traffic and all the noise of town / Is dimmed, and on the streets and squares / The filmy curtain of the night sinks down / With sleep, the recompense of cares, / To me the darkness brings nor sleep nor rest. / A pageant of the torturing hours / Drags i...»
«Hermits and blameless women full of Grace, / To raise the heart into celestial space. / In storm and strife below to strengthen it, / A host of holy orisons have writ; / But one of all the multitudinous host / Of orison and praise has moved me most, / A prayer repeated by the priest in L...»
«All harmony, all marvel, she, / Above the world and passionless: / She rests serene shamefastedly / In her triumphant loveliness; / She looks around her left and right: / She has no rival and no peer: / The beauties of our pallid sphere / Have vanished in her blinding light. Bound for...»