The Passions

NARROW paths my passions tread:
Laughter rings there, sorrow cries;
Sick and sad, with half-shut eyes,
Thro' the leaves the woods have shed,

My sins like yellow mongrels slink;
Uncouth hyenas, my hates complain,
And on the pale and listless plain
Couching low, love's lion's blink.

Powerless, deep in a dream of peace,
Sunk in a languid spell they lie,
Under a colourless, desolate sky,
There they gaze and never cease,

Where like sheep temptations graze,
One by one departing slow:
In the moon's unchanging glow
My unchanging passions gaze.

Translated by Bernard Miall
(Contributed by ivan on Saturday, February 5th, 2011)
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Belgian Literature

European Literature