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Sonnet CLXIX
poetry [ ]
from "Shakespeare’s Last Imaginary Sonnets in a Visionary Translation" by Vasile Voiculescu

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by [cam ]

2007-02-04  |     | 

Winter is falling down... The fate more and more deeply bows,
Now our hearts are wrapping their selves in clouds.
Like a blunt sword, you shove your soul in scabbard,
Whenever with the sorrow’s shadows your life have to measure:
How high they grew, almost until forehead!
The slowness of the wily time has lied to you.
You believed that time ahead is like a bridge,
But it was the wave itself, which lastly swallowed you...
Is it some shore to swim unto, where you’ve could escape?
You have to pay hard tribute for redeeming your mistake!
Maybe everything ends thus, come what may and that was all!
Because, look, the frost is coming, hurried like the accursed goal!

Oh, if you could not the North Pole to displace with your shoulder,
Rather quench gently the thoughts’ burning and let them only smoulder!

Thursday, January 13, 1955

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