In the days when I was little
had they asked me what I wanted,
What I'd wish for first if wishes
As the thought of such abundance
I should long have hesitated,
Picture-books, paint-boxes, soldiers -
between these have vacillated.
But grown older, plans were bolder;
I had made my proud election
- Fame as hero, fame as victor,
worlds o'erthrown for resurrection;
Or as a artist crowned with laurel,
lord of some domain entrancing,
Magic trees around me blossoming,
and lovely ladies glancing.
Nowadays, if hope grown weary
in the wishing-game persisted,
Though I blushed to think the childish,
foolish longing still existed,
I would ask to hear the old way
bells would sound when lying lonely
Half-asleep, a little fellow. . .
I would ask to hear that only.
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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