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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.
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