Monday, 20 August 2018

Morning Bell - Carl Spitteler

It seemed as though the dawn would never come
To save me from the night's delirium,
Those hells of thought I wandered in - who schooled
My brain at other times, and strictly ruled
Its every motion. Fever now was king;
My spirit groped, a shuddering helpless thing,
Through labyrinths of dream no pause, no rest,
The Furies' prey, disarmed and dispossessed.

Hark! Through the lightless gloom, the black dismay,
A distant bell-note throbs... Deliverance! Day!
Young life, young faith breathes "I." And soft and clear
Whispers the morning-dream of human cheer.

Carl Spitteler (1845 — 1924) Switzerland
Translated by Ethel Colburn Mayne
Source: Ross' columns (taken from Selected Poems translated by Ethel Colburn Mayne and James F. Muirhead)

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