Have you ever heard the torrent of abuse
As it curses it's way to Vitipuration Falls
Through rapids vitriolic and cataracts obtuse
To it's final foul mutterings in The Bay of Catcalls
Seht hier meines Frühlings Rosen,
Frisch, wie ich sie abgebrochen;
Mancher Dorn hat mich gestochen,
Mancher Duft hat mich erquickt!
To chase a never-reached mirage
Across the hot, white sand,
And choke and die, while gazing on
Its green and watered strand.
En Digter sang: Hvor Smaa kan være store!
Men sér jeg Dig i al din Storhed staa
og saare Hjertet for med Vid at more,
jeg synger: Ak, hvor Store tidt er smaa!
তুমিটো জানাই
এই কবিৰ আৰু একো নাই |
এটাই মাথোঁ কামিজ
তাৰো ছিগো-ছিগো চিলাই |
প্ৰেম নিশ্চয় এনেকুৱাই
আৱৰণ খুলি হৃদয় জুৰাই |
Visiting the graves,
the old dog
leads the way.
Translated by Robert Hass
Beneath the pine-trees, I ask of a lad I see.
Away is the master gathering herbs, says he,
Up in this mountain, but where? I cannot tell,
For there the clouds are deep and dense as be.
There shall broad streets their stately walls extend;
Embellished villas crown the landscape scene,
Farms wave with gold, and orchards blush between
There shall tall spires and dome-capt towers ascend,
And piers and quays their massy structures blend;
While each breeze approaching vessels glide,
And northern treasures dance on every tide.
Violin was torn to pieces begging,
And then broke out in tears
So childishly,
That Drum couldn't handle it any longer,
Alt kommer an paa Vinden til Søes, tit pludselig slaaer den
Om til en anden Kant, Alting maa lystre dens Vink.
Poesie er som Søen et Hav med utallige Bølger;
Digterens Lune giør her Indgreb i Æoli Ret
Derefter Farten maa rettes; thi Læser! forlad hvis i Digtet
Stundom lidt krydse du maa, ret som paa Beltet din Ven!
