O blazing Muse of pure satire!
Come forth on my inviting call!
I do not need the thundering lyre,
Give me the scourge of Juvenal!
And neither lifeless imitators
Nor hungry, gluttonous translators,
Nor rhymesters, unsatisfied ,
Shall fester from my pen tonight.
Peace to the poets, poor creators,
Peace to the journal’s adulators,
Peace to the fools who have been tamed!
But rascals, you I’ll put to shame,--
Come forth you villains, don’t resist!
And everyone I’ll punished then
But if by chance one I shall miss,
Please do remind me, gentlemen!
How many faces -- shameless-pale,
How many forehands -- dull and stale,
Stand here, all ready to acquire
The timeless imprint of my lyre!
I still recall the wondrous moment:
When you appeared before my sight
As though a brief and fleeting omen,
Pure phantom in enchanting light.
In sorrow, when I felt unwell,
Caught in the bustle, in a daze,
I fell under your voice’s spell
And dreamt the features of your face.
Years passed and gales had dispelled
My former hopes, and in those days,
I lost your voice’s sacred spell,
The holy features of your face.
Detained in darkness, isolation,
My days began to drag in strife.
Without faith and inspiration,
Without tears, and love and life.
My soul attained its waking moment:
You re-appeared before my sight,
As though a brief and fleeting omen,
Pure phantom in enchanting light.
And now, my heart, with fascination,
Beats rapidly and finds revived
Devout faith and inspiration,
And tender tears and love and life.
One bearded sage concluded: there's no motion.
Without a word, another walked before him.
He couldn’t answer better; all adored him
And all agreed that he disproved that notion.
But one can see it all in a different light,
For me, another funny thought comes into play:
We watch the sun move all throughout the day
And yet the stubborn Galileo had it right.
All’s finished: you and I are fractured.
I sang my songs of sorrow line by line
As I embraced your knees the final time.
All’s finished now – I heeded your reaction.
It’s done. I won’t deceive myself again.
I won’t pursue you, full of grief and woe.
Perhaps, one day, I’ll learn to let you go.
It’s clear that love was made for other men.
You’re still so young: Your soul is beautiful
And many men will love you after me.
Lisa is afraid to love.
Nonsense, -- that is not her manner!
Careful – what if it’s a bluff
And perhaps this new Diana
Has repressed her passion’s call—
And with shameful, glowing eyes
Walks among us in disguise,
Looking just for whom to fall.
My friend, I have forgotten all that’s passed,
The passion of my youth was rather brief.
Don’t ask about the things that didn’t last,
Or how I felt in the times of joy or grief,
Or what I loved, on how I was betrayed.
I may not know true happiness today:
But you are innocent, conceived for only bliss,
Believe in it and seize each moment’s portion
Your soul was made for friendship and devotion,
To feel the passion of a kiss.
Your soul is pure and unexposed to sadness
Your conscience is still clear like light of day,
Why listen to the lunacy and madness
Of all of my uninteresting hearsay?
It will replace your peaceful thoughts with stress,
Your heart will tremble, you will cry in bed,
Your soul will lose its trust in its distress,
Perhaps, my love will fill you with regret.
Who knows? perhaps forever... No, my dear,
I fear to cast my final happiness away
Don’t ask for dangerous confessions here,
Today I love, I’m happy for today.
This time’s the final time, my friend,
I enter through your door.
Love’s quiet hour has been spent
And now, there is no more.
Don’t wait for me all night and mope,
Held captive by the deceitful hope,
Don’t burn your candles, in a daze,
Til morning rays.
I will be silenced soon!... If on the tragic day,
The strings would pensively begin to play;
If adolescents, sitting quietly, immersed,
Began to marvel at my passion’s madness;
If only you, surrendering to sadness,
In silence mumbled melancholy verse
And loved the way my ardent heart had flamed...
If I’m still loved... allow me, my dear friend,
To re-awake the lyre with my hand
And make it ring out with my lover’s name!...
The day I find eternal rest, you’ll pause
Over my grave and say with trepidation:
“I used to loved him, and with that I caused
His songs and love, - his final inspiration.
I’ve lived to see desire vanish,
With hope I’ve slowly come to part,
And I am left with only anguish,
The fruit of emptiness at heart.
Under the storms of merciless fate,
My worn and withered garland lies--
In sadness, lonesome, I await:
How far away is my demise?
Thus, conquered by a tardy frost,
Through gale’s whistling and shimmer,
Late, on a naked limb exposed
A lonesome leaf is left to quiver!...
Lily, Lily! I am sighing
With despair and hopeless woe.
I am tortured, I am dying,
And my soul has lost its glow,
But my love evoked no pity:
You consider me pathetic.
Keep on laughing: you are pretty
Even when unsympathetic.
