So we must be divided; sweetest, stay,
Once more, mine-eyes would seek thy glance’s light.
At night I shall recall thee Thou, I pray,
Be mindful of the days of our delight.
Come to me in my dreams, I ask of thee,
And even in my dreams be gentle unto me.
If thou shouldst send me greeting in the grave,
The cold breath of the grave itself were sweet;
Oh, take my life, my life, ‘tis all I have,
If it should make thee live, I do entreat.
I think that I shall hear when I am dead,
The rustle of thy gown, thy footsteps overhead.
Translated by Amy Levy
No comments:
Post a Comment