At the Last

Nun, ihr Musen, genug!

Vergebens strebt ihr zu schildern

Wie sich Jammer und Glück

Wechseln in liebender Brust.

Heilen könnet die Wunden ihr nicht

Die Amor geschlagen.

Aber Linderung kommt

Einzig, ihr Guten, von euch.

Goethe, "Zum Schluss"

POET

Now, you Muses, no more!

In vain you seek to reveal

the joy and the grief forever warring in love.

Not all your art can heal the wounds

Eros inflicts.

But solace, Benign Ones-solace comes only from you.

MUSES

Cowardly singer, no more!

In vain you seek to conceal

your disgraced and meager lust-riven heart,

your brute remorse, your delight in the wounds

Eros inflicts.

Remembrance we stalk. Solace we forswear.

Hatred, raging war,

death that rides night and day,

and love cast carelessly away

and ghosts, their faces turned aside