Fatigued and worn, life in my frozen chest is fading
And that’s the end of strife, the end of everything!
Kyprid and Eros, torments to my heart you bring!
Just listen to my dismal voice before its ending.
I’m fading, and I’m bearing the pain:
I’m half alive but I am burning,
I’m fading, but I’m in love again,
I’m dying, without hope, but yearning!
Likewise, the alter flame enfolds the prey
And, turning pale, all of a sudden flashes,
As if reviving on the final day
It withers fading on the ashes.
Изнемогает жизнь в груди моей остылой;
Конец борению; увы! всему конец.
Киприда и Эрот, мучители сердец!
Услышьте голос мой последний и унылый.
Я вяну и ещё мучения терплю:
Полмертвый, но сгараю.
Я вяну, но ещё так пламенно люблю
И без надежды умираю!
Так, жертву обхватив кругом,
На алтаре огонь бледнеет, умирает
И, вспыхнув ярче пред концом,
На пепле погасает.
«The smokey blotches of the neighbours’ windows, / and windswept roses bending, drawing breath — / if I could think that life is but a dream, / that we cannot help waking after death. To wait in heaven — heaven is so blue — / to wait in that cool bliss without a care. / And then, ...»
«I still find charm in little accidental / trifles, empty little things — / say, in a novel without end or title, / or in this rose, now wilting in my hands. I like its moiré petals, dappled / with trembling silver drops of rain — / and how I found it on the sidewalk, / and how I’...»
«Where can I look, where can I go, / to find that almost Alpine snow, / all sacrificed so life can grow, / all turned by May to splash and flow, / to breath of dandelion and rose, / to mighty wave or shining billow — / into that foolish question posed / by François Villon long ago?»
«Led by what is shining, / the sleepwalker looks into a blank, / black is the death beneath him / and there’s no knowing / where the moon’s thin ledge / will slide him. The innocent are executed / in a universal night — / look the other way. / Look into cold nothing / and let...»