Oh, ideal
lost in night-mists of a vanished universe:
People
who would think in legends - all a world who spoke in verse;
I can see
and think and hear you - youthful scout which gently nods
From a
sky with different starlights, other Edens, other gods.
Venus
made of blood-warm marble, stony eyes which often flash,
You
embodied in a goddess woman's beauty, charm and dash:
Arms as
soft as is the thinking of an emp'ror born a poet;
Woman's
own divine attraction, still enticing as I saw it.
Raphael
enwrapped in dreaming as below a starry sky –
Just a
spirit drunk with light-rays and with Springs that never die-
Saw you
and thus dreamed of Eden - flowery and redolent, -
Saw you
as a queen of heaven, 'mong the angels' merriment,
And upon
the empty canvas traced the God-Star of the Sea,
With a
star-adorned tiara, with her bland smile, maidenly,
Pale
complexion framed by gold rays - angel-like yet feminine:
After
woman have been modelled angels in the vaults serene.
Thus
myself, lost in the darkness of a life bent on the lyre,
Noticed you - a shallow woman, poor in soul
and poor in fire –
And I
wrought from you an angel, gentle as the magic day,
When,
upon a life laid barren, blandly smiles a lucky ray.
Seeing
that your face was pallid with a sickly drunkenness
And your
lips turned purple, bitten by corruption and excess;
Cruel
one, I cast upon you poetry's veil - white and dense
Covering
your morbid palour with the beams of innocence,
I had given
you the pale rays which pour, magic and unreal,
On the
brow of genius-angels, of angel turned ideal;
I changed
demon into vestal, giggles into symphony,
And your
leering sidelong glances into the Aurora's glee.
But by
now the veil has fallen! Tearing me from dreams of bliss
You are
sobering my forehead with the frost-bite of your kiss
Now I'm
looking at you, demon, and my love - quenched, cold, forlorn,
Teaches
me to look upon you with the icy eye of scorn.
You
appear as a bacchante who has stolen by deceit
Martyrdom's
green wreath of myrtle mingled with a maiden's pleat
Holy was
the Virgin's spirit, prayer's very counterpart,
While a
long spasmodic frenzy pictures the bacchante's heart.
Oh, as
Raphael created our God-Star of the Sea,
With a
star-adorned tiara, with her bland smile, maidenly,
I myself
have rendered godly what was merely feminine,
Just a
cold and leaden woman, barren-hearted, viperine!
Are you
crying, child? - Your eyes which abjectly now supplicate –
Can they
once more crush and crumble my heart of an apostate?
I have
kissed your hand, I'm kneeling, searching your dark, sea-deep eyes
Asking
them if you can pardon - humbly I apologize.
Wipe your
eyes, abandon crying! My reproach was out of season –
Cruel,
unjust accusation, lacking grounding, lacking reason.
Heart of
hearts! E'en though a demon through ou'r love you're sanctified
And I
venerate this demon with fair hair, eyes opened wide.
Translated
by Andrei Bantas
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