I don't know, I can't explain...
Do I love or do I die?
Is it a dream or is it Verlaine?
Is it a spell or a prison cell?
Either the torture of the ideal
Or the beauty's torment
Is spilled in the whole world
From a broken goblet.
The dream might be wrong as well
Whether she is the one,
In the light of the ideal
The dream might guess in vain
Is it spell or a prison cell?
Is it a dream or is it Verlaine?
But the roses of my cell
Breathed the scent to my lips,
And my dream will sing again
To the music of Verlaine.
Innokenty Annensky (1855 - 1909) Russia
Translated by Ian Probstein
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