The Pot Lid
Whatever place he goes, on land or sea,
Under a flaming or a chilling sun,
Servant ofJesus, courtier of Love,
Refulgent Croesus or a dingy tramp,
Set in his city or a vagabond,
Whether his little brain be quick or slow,
Man everywhere quakes at the mystery,
And looks up only with a trembling eye.
The sky above! this wall that stifles him,
A ceiling lit by the dramatic farce
In which each actor treads a bloody earth;
Libertines' terror, the mad hermit's hope:
The Sky! black lid of the enormous pot
Where vast, amorphous Mankind boils and seethes.
Přeložil James McGowan