translation of a poem by the Finnish poet Josef Julius Wecksell (Swedish, 1838-1907), who far too early lost himself in schizophrenia (1862, with the production of his only play, the dramatic masterpiece "Daniel Hjort").


Was it a dream?



Was it just a dream
that I was once your heart's beloved?
I remember it most like a silenced song
the string of which is trembling still.

I remember that you offered me a briar rose
of shy and tender aspect
and a glistening silver tear of a farewell
and was it all a dream?

A dream like the short life of an anemone
of the green springfield of a moment,
hastily to sparkle just to wither
and immediately to be replaced and disappear
in vulgar crowds of others.

But methinks I oftentimes at night
hear one voice crying bitterly
in floods of never-ending tears;
and that's the memory to hide and keep
in safety deep within your breast,
for that one was your finest dream.




Poetry by Christian Lanciai The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 389 times
Written on 2008-02-15 at 17:22

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