When?
When shall they crown a poet?—they have twined
Around the lordly brows of poets dead
White lilies, dark-green bay-leaves, roses red,—
And golden crowns and silver have designed
For singers clustered in the years behind.
But ah! the living lonely thorn-pierced head:
Raindrops and dewdrops in the roses' stead
Crown the tired forehead,—and the weary wind.
When shall they crown a poet?—When his ears
Are deaf for ever to the sound of praise.
Then will the world's heart open to his lays
And his sweet singing move men's souls to tears.
Life brought him torment. Nobler death shall give
The force to conquer, and the right to live.
Around the lordly brows of poets dead
White lilies, dark-green bay-leaves, roses red,—
And golden crowns and silver have designed
For singers clustered in the years behind.
But ah! the living lonely thorn-pierced head:
Raindrops and dewdrops in the roses' stead
Crown the tired forehead,—and the weary wind.
When shall they crown a poet?—When his ears
Are deaf for ever to the sound of praise.
Then will the world's heart open to his lays
And his sweet singing move men's souls to tears.
Life brought him torment. Nobler death shall give
The force to conquer, and the right to live.
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.