17.04.2008, 19:55
Stéphane Mallarmé
Friend of my youth, with whom I shared the chance
Of life for thirty years in joy and woe,
That hand in hand and heart in heart didst go
With me, though England's I and thou of France,
Thou hast fared on before me, in advance,
Into the mystic seas, to ebb and flow
Of time that answer not nor to and fro
Are shaken of the surge of circumstance.
Brother, farewell! I shall not see thee more;
i know that nevermore, for joy or pain
Our eyes shall meet, our hands shall clasp again;
Yet closelier, I doubt not, than of yore
Our souls shall join in some translunar sphere,
Where never Winter comes nor leaves are sere.
Friend of my youth, with whom I shared the chance
Of life for thirty years in joy and woe,
That hand in hand and heart in heart didst go
With me, though England's I and thou of France,
Thou hast fared on before me, in advance,
Into the mystic seas, to ebb and flow
Of time that answer not nor to and fro
Are shaken of the surge of circumstance.
Brother, farewell! I shall not see thee more;
i know that nevermore, for joy or pain
Our eyes shall meet, our hands shall clasp again;
Yet closelier, I doubt not, than of yore
Our souls shall join in some translunar sphere,
Where never Winter comes nor leaves are sere.