Le Guignon (Ill-Starred)

Pour soulever un poids si lourd,

Sisyphe, il faudrait ton courage!

Bien qu'on ait du coeur à l'ouvrage,

L'Art est long et le Temps est court.

Loin des sépultures célèbres,

Vers un cimetière isolé,

Mon coeur, comme un tambour voilé,

Va battant des marches funèbres.

— Maint joyau dort enseveli

Dans les ténèbres et l'oubli,

Bien loin des pioches et des sondes;

Mainte fleur épanche à regret

Son parfum doux comme un secret

Dans les solitudes profondes.

Evil Fate

To lift a weight so heavy,

Would take your courage, Sisyphus!

Although one's heart is in the work,

Art is long and Time is short.

Far from famous sepulchers

Toward a lonely cemetery

My heart, like muffled drums,

Goes beating funeral marches.

Many a jewel lies buried

In darkness and oblivion,

Far, far away from picks and drills;

Many a flower regretfully

Exhales perfume soft as secrets

In a profound solitude.

— Translated by William Aggeler

Ill Luck

So huge a burden to support

Your courage, Sisyphus, would ask;

Well though my heart attacks its task,

Yet Art is long and Time is short.

Far from the famed memorial arch

Towards a lonely grave I come.

My heart in its funereal march

Goes beating like a muffled drum.

— Yet many a gem lies hidden still

Of whom no pick-axe, spade, or drill

The lonely secrecy invades;

And many a flower, to heal regret,

Pours forth its fragrant secret yet

Amidst the solitary shades.

— Translated by Roy Campbell

Ill-Starred

A man would needs be brave and strong

As Sisyphus, for such a task!

It is not greater zeal I ask —

But life is brief, and art is long.

To a forsaken mound of clay

Where no admirers ever come,

My heart, like an invisible drum,

Goes beating a dead march all day.

Many a jewel of untold worth

Lies slumbering at the core of earth,

In darkness and oblivion drowned;

Many a flower has bloomed and spent

The secret of its passionate scent

Upon the wilderness profound.

— Translated by George Dillon

Ill-Starred

To bear a weight that cannot be borne,

Sisyphus, even you aren't that strong,

Although your heart cannot be torn

Time is short and Art is long.

Far from celebrated sepulchers

Toward a solitary graveyard

My heart, like a drum muffled hard

Beats a funeral march for the ill-starred.

—Many jewels are buried or shrouded

In darkness and oblivion's clouds,

Far from any pick or drill bit,

Many a flower unburdens with regret

Its perfume sweet like a secret;

In profoundly empty solitude to sit.

Translated by William A. Sigler