A collection of poems translated from Western poetry

I met a sage carrying in his hands the book of wisdom.

I said: Sir, let me read in it.

He said: Child! — But I interrupted him, saying:

Sir, do not think me a child,

for I am aware of much that the pages of the book in your hands contain —

yes, and I know much of it. The man smiled, and opened the book, and spread its pages before me. And behold — suddenly — I had gone blind.

If it is for you to love me, let your love be for love's sake.

Do not say: I love her for her smile, for her glance, for her gentle talk, for a turn in her thinking that falls in with mine and creates a feeling of ease and peace, every day of life.

For these things, in themselves, may change, my beloved,

or may change in your eyes, and the love that was woven of them will unravel as it was woven. And do not love me out of the pity you feel as you wipe the tears from my cheek — for a creature long used to your tenderness may forget to weep, and so lose your love.

But love me for love's sake, that our love may live on, into eternity.

Of old, Freedom sat upon the heights, the thunder pealing at her feet,

the starry heavens quaking above her head, and in her ears the din of clashing currents.

She sat there rejoicing, content with her searching mind; but fragments of her resounding voice came borne on the wings of the winds,

then came down to the fields and the cities, and mingled with mankind,

and she drew the veil aside little by little,

and shone with her full face upon men.

O mother of majestic, stately deeds, gazing down upon us from her altar,

O you who carry the triple fork like the gods and wear the crown like kings,

your frank eyes seek out the truth; in them is a thousand years of wisdom.

Would that eternal youth might keep their light glittering,

never dimmed by tears;

would that your fair form might stand erect and luminous, shining before us,

softening the gloom of our dreams,

and scorning, with its holy lips, the lies of slanderers.

In the desert I saw a creature, naked, bestial,

squatting on the ground, holding his heart in his hands,

gnawing at it.

I said: Is it good, friend? He said:

It is bitter. Bitter. But I like it,

because it is bitter, and because it is my heart!