Let the names of flowery cities
Caress the ear with fleeting glory —
It is not Rome the city that’s immortal,
But man’s presence in the universe.
Kings try to get man in their power,
Priests find excuses for their wars,
And yet without him hearths and altars
Like wretched rubble are beneath contempt.
Пусть имена цветущих городов
Ласкают слух значительностью бренной.
Не город Рим живет среди веков,
А место человека во вселенной.
Им овладеть пытаются цари,
Священники оправдывают войны,
И без него презрения достойны,
Как жалкий сор, дома и алтари.
«Since that time when the highest court / Had given me the prophet's vision, / In eyes of men I always caught / The images of sin and treason. Then I began to promulgate / The clear love's and truth's commandment: / At me all humans threw for that / Hard sticks and stones, like the madme...»
«E’er since eternal judge gave me / A prophet’s proud omniscient manner, / In people’s eyes I’m wont to see / The wicked sway of vice’s banner. When I began to tell of love / And truth in all its purest teaching: / My fellows in a pressing shove / Stoned me, in spite of all bes...»
«A floweret, withered, odorless / In a book forgot I find; / And already strange reflection / Cometh into my mind. Bloomed, where? when? In what spring? / And how long ago? And plucked by whom? / Was it by a strange hand? Was it by a dear hand? / And wherefore left thus here? Was it in ...»
«If by life you were deceived, / Don't be dismal, don't be wild! / In the day of grief, be mild / Merry days will come, believe. Heart is living in tomorrow; / Present is dejected here; / In a moment, passes sorrow; / That which passes will be dear.»