Did I murder my father, murder my mother,
in some other life ?
Yes, oh immortal, eternal God, yes! or how
could I deserve this disgrace of suffering?
I lead a life as peaceful as death,
everything I do belongs to someone else, nothing
to me—except a languid, worthless,
distinctly platonic love...
Oh to run, to hide like a thief
— in Africa, as I hid before, to lie
beneath some royal sycamore
and never rise.
Darkness would wrap me in velvet,
the moon would dress me in silver,
and maybe the wind could forget
that, once, I worked in an office.
Вероятно, в жизни предыдущей
Я зарезал и отца и мать,
Если в этой — Боже Присносущий! —
Так позорно осужден страдать.
Каждый день мой, как мертвец, спокойный,
Все дела чужие, не мои,
Лишь томленье вовсе недостойной,
Вовсе платонической любви.
Ах, бежать бы, скрыться бы, как вору,
В Африку, как прежде, как тогда,
Лечь под царственную сикомору
И не подниматься никогда.
Бархатом меня покроет вечер,
А луна оденет в серебро,
И быть может не припомнит ветер,
Что когда-то я служил в бюро.
«“Ice cream!” And the sun. And a wafer’s light crisp. / A glass in the hand with its water near freezing. / Bedazzled, my consciousness reverie’s seizing, / To ruddy-dawned Alps with milk chocolate world’s wisp. Look tenderly now with a clink of your spoon – / In little pavilion,...»
«Where once a Roman judge o’er alien folk did sit / A temple stands, agleam with first exhilaration, / Like Adam once, with sinews’ taut extenuation / Its criss-cross arches lightly flex in muscled knit. But from outside itself the secret plan betrays: / For here the flying buttresses ex...»
«I see the heavens, dull and stony / Above the waters’ sluggish web. / And Erebus, soul’s hateful crony, / Enfolds me in his tedious ebb. I comprehend this dread appalling, / And there’s a link I understand: / Not crumbling, still the sky is falling, / Not foaming, still sea strike...»
«You aren’t yet dead, and you are not as yet alone, / As long as with your beggared lover / By joy of wide expanses of the plains you’re thrown / As dark and cold and blizzards cover. In lavish destitution and in mighty dearth / Then live in peace and consolation. / For blessed then th...»