I’m not saying: «Be complacent!»
For I love the storm and sleet.
Life is life, not weekend races,
Not for gold cups we compete.
Poet, learn a sterner lesson!
Take no town without a fight!
Know: the verse that cost no effort
You shall surely burn one night.
Be your spirit gay or solemn,
Let true speech be your firm creed.
On your journey pause to ponder,
First look round, and then proceed!
TO YOU!
Where many are seated at table,
All high-flown rhetoric I scorn
And raise, like the new moon, a bullock’s
Capacious and prodigal horn,
Replete with the gift of the vineyard,
A gift that is gay and profuse.
The afternoon glow of a valley
Is stored in this ruby-dark juice.
So, praising the sun they require,
And vaults where the sun never dips,
We savour these droplets of fire
As keenly as feminine lips.
Or maybe this wine in our glasses
Comes not from the cask, but instead
Has sprung from the eloquent verses
Which long since have gone to my head.
If you, like me, drink with discretion,
Remember this sobering truth:
Good wine has the wisdom of ancients,
The ardour of turbulent youth.
We gather to honour old custom
And string out our toasts in a line.
We raise the great horn of a bullock,
Replete to the brim with red wine.
The years vanish over our shoulders.
I render due homage to life
And solemnly honour the soldiers
Who fell in the thick of the strife.
Now look, like the crescent moon’s brother.
The horn to my hot palm is pressed.
Beside us the fleet-winged horses
Speed over the high mountain crest.
May the warm, loving eyes of humanity
The glow in my own eyes renew!
To you, friends, I gladly pay homage,
This very last toast is to you!
* * *
Good morning!
Look out of the window, for there
A white colt is waiting. Go ride, if you dare!
God save you from suffering lifelong remorse
For failing to saddle a mettlesome horse!
* * *
You, who excel in all men’s eyes,
Don’t lose your head! Perhaps
The stairs that help your sudden rise
Will suddenly collapse.
* * *
Fate has been kind: I’m neither blind
Nor mad… yet still desire
To see the world’s bread lower priced
And human life priced higher.
* * *
The hero never spares a thought for Death,
On which the poet lavishes his breath.
But Death and Immortality stand by
To give them both admittance when they die.