Cast prostrate, in mourning,
Wingless, self-scorning,
Grief in a gust
Flings us, dust upon dust.
We desire not, we dare not,
We believe not, we care not,
No wisdom has worth.
God, do thou dower us,
Kindle, empower us,
Give of thy mirth.
From the languor that clings
Give us wings! Give us wings!
Wings of thy Spirit.
Ниц простертые, унылые,
Безнадежные, бескрылые,
В покаянии, в слезах,—
Мы лежим во прахе прах,
Мы не смеем, не желаем,
И не верим, и не знаем,
И не любим ничего.
Боже, дай нам избавленья,
Дай свободы и стремленья,
Дай веселья Твоего.
О, спаси нас от бессилья,
Дай нам крылья, дай нам крылья,
Крылья духа Твоего!
«A bird who wants to go higher / flies into the blue. / A lady who wants to go higher / wears a high-heeled shoe. / When I don't have any shoes / I go to the market and buy some. / Someone who's missing a nose / can go get a false one. / When a nation discovers it has no soul, / it ...»
«I see right through you, Numbers. / I see you dressed in animals, their skins, / coolly propped against uprooted oaks. / You offer us a gift: unity between the snaky movement / of the backbone of the universe and Libra dancing / overhead. You help us to see centuries as a flash / of laug...»
«I don't need much! / A crust of bread, / a cup of milk, / the sky above / and these clouds!»
«The sticky sky smells blue-gray, it's the odor of udder. / Show me some loving, be good to me! / I am bleeding. You are my fatality. / I am nailed up to die on an old empty tree.»