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What's that to us, my
heart, the sheets of blood
And ember, and a thousand murders, and the long shouts
Of rage, sobs of all hell overturning
All order; and the north wind still on the debris;
And all vengeance? Nothing!... But yes, still and all,
We wish it! Industrialists, princes, senates;
Perish! Power, justice, history: down with them!
That is owed us. Blood! blood! the golden flame!
All to war, to vengeance, to terror,
My mind! Let's turn in the bite: Ah! pass,
Republics of this world! Emperors,
Regiments, colonists, peoples, enough!
Who would stir up whirlwinds of furious
fire,
But we and those whom we imagine brothers?
To us, fabulous friends: that will please us.
Never shall we work, o waves of fire!
Europe, Asia, America, disappear.
Our avenging march has occupied all,
Cities and countrysides!—we shall be put down!
Volcanoes will blow! And the Ocean struck...
Oh! my friends!—my heart, it is
sure, they are brothers:
Dark unknowns, if we were to leave! Let's go! let's go!
O misfortune! I feel myself shiver, the old earth
On me more and more yours! the earth melts.
It is nothing; I am here; I am
always here.
Harken
to it troat
Close to the acacias
in April the shoot
viridian of peas!
In its clear
vapor,
to Phoebe! you see
the heads shaking
of saints that used to be…
Far from
bright ricks
of capes, fair housetops,
these dear Ancients wish
that deep love potion…
Gold nor
ferial
nor astral! that’s
the mist exhaled
by that night effect.
And still they
rest
—Germany, Sicily,
in that fogbank triste
and wan, precisely!
Song of the highest tower
Lazy
youth
enslaved
to all,
by
politesse
I
lost my life.
Ah!
let the time come
of
hearts in love.
I
said: forget,
let
no one see:
and
unpromised
the
highest joys.
Be
stopped nohow,
august
retreat.
I've
been so patient
I
forget how long;
suffering
and fear
to
heaven are fled.
And
the dirty thirst
my
veins blocks.
Thus
the Field
to
oblivion delivered,
swollen,
and flowering
with
incense and tares
to
the heavy burden
of
a hundred dirty flies.
Ah!
a million widowings
of
the so poor soul
with
naught but the picture
of
Nuestra Seņora!
Should
I pray to
The
Virgin Mary?
Lazy
youth
enslaved
to all,
by
politesse
I
lost my life.
Ah!
let the time come
of
hearts in love.
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