Mid–Winter Songs

Lament for Pasiphae

Tekst: Robert Graves

Dying sun, Shine warm a little longer!
My eye, dazzled with tears, shall dazzle yours,
Conjuring you to shine and not to move.
You, sun, and I all afternoon have laboured
Beneath a dewless and oppressive cloud—
a fleece now glided with our common grief
That this must be a night without a moon.
Dying sun, shine warm a little longer!
Faithless she was not: she was very woman,
Smiling with dire impartiality,
Sovereign, with heart unmatched, adored of men,
Until Spring’s cuckoo with bedraggled plumes
Tempted her pity and her truth betrayed.
The she who shone for all resigned her being,
And this must be a night without a moon.
Dying sun, shine warm a little longer!

xx

Weeklacht voor Pasiphaë

xx

Stervende zon, geef iets langer warmte!
Mijn oog, verblind door tranen, zal het uwe verbazen
in zijn smeken om te schijnen en niet te gaan.
U, zon, en ik hebben de hele middag gearbeid
onder een benauwende wolk zonder dauw—
[ . . . ]

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