Poesia Estrangeira - Academia Brasileira de Letras

Tradução de Benedicto Ferri de BarrosShall be paid, but from this nightNot a whisper, not a thought,Not a kiss nor look be lost.Beauty, midnight, vision dies:Let the winds of dawn that blowSoftly round your dreaming headSuch a day of sweetness showEye and knocking heart may bless,Find the mortal world enough;Noons of dryness see you fedBy the involuntary powers,Nights of insult let you passWatched by every human love.Epitaph on a tyrantPerfection, of a kind, was what he was afterAnd the poetry he invented was easy to understand;He knew human folly like the back of his hand,And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,And when he cried the little children died in the streets.186