Poetry matters more than all else, yet not at all.
⁓The Voice before the Void
“As I approach the last of all my days”
translated from the Italian by Lorna de’ Lucchi
As I approach the last of all my days,
So brief by reason of its dower of pain,
Light-footed time speeds swiftly from my gaze
And faith in him proves profitless and vain.
Then to myself I say: “A little space
And we will sing no more at Love’s behest,
Like snow these earthly chains will melt apace
And we be gathered peacefully to rest.
Since Love must pass away, even so must all
The dreams for which we bartered heaven and earth,
Our fears, our sorrows, and our boist’rous mirth;
Then we shall know how oft it doth befall
That men strive after things of trivial worth,
And sigh for that which matters not at all.”