TRANSLATIONS
371
How the seraphical blue in the dim glass smiles,But I abhor the blue of the sky!Yet milesOn miles of rocking waves! Know'st not a landWhere, in the pestilent sky, men see the handOf Venus, and her shadow in dark leaves?Thither I go.Light thou the wax that grievesIn the swift flame, and sheds an alien tearOver the vain gold; wilt not say in mereChildishness?
Nurse.Now?
Herodiade.Farewell. You lie, O flowerOf these chill lips!I wait the unknown hour,Or, deaf to your crying and that hour supreme,Utter the lamentation of the dreamOf childhood seeing fall apart in sighsThe icy chaplet of its reveries.
