Just as a little olive offshoot grows
Beneath its orchard elders’ shady rows,
No budding leaf as yet, no branching limb,
Only a rod uprising, virgin-slim —
Then if the busy gardener, weeding out
Sharp thorns and nettles, cuts the little sprout,
It fades and, losing all its living hue,
Drops by the mother from whose roots it grew:
So was it with my Ursula, my dear;
A little space she grew beside us here,
Then Death came, breathing pestilence, and she
Fell, stricken lifeless, by her parent tree.
Persephone, Persephone, this flow
Of barren tears! How couldst thou will it so?
Jan Kochanowski (1530 - 1584) Poland
Translated by Dorothea Prall
Source: Jan Kochanowski Laments, translated by Dorothea Prall, Fundacగa Modern Poland
Beneath its orchard elders’ shady rows,
No budding leaf as yet, no branching limb,
Only a rod uprising, virgin-slim —
Then if the busy gardener, weeding out
Sharp thorns and nettles, cuts the little sprout,
It fades and, losing all its living hue,
Drops by the mother from whose roots it grew:
So was it with my Ursula, my dear;
A little space she grew beside us here,
Then Death came, breathing pestilence, and she
Fell, stricken lifeless, by her parent tree.
Persephone, Persephone, this flow
Of barren tears! How couldst thou will it so?
Jan Kochanowski (1530 - 1584) Poland
Translated by Dorothea Prall
Source: Jan Kochanowski Laments, translated by Dorothea Prall, Fundacగa Modern Poland
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please keep your comments relevant and free from abusive language. Thank you. Note that comments are moderated so it may be a day or two before your comment is posted - irrelevant or abusive comments will not be published.