Calcutta nr. 82
The cloud comes, and (in the) garden the tops of the verdure weep
Without Arghavan (coloured) wine I cannot remain alive
This verdure which is today my pleasure-ground
Until the verdure from my clay becomes a pleasure-ground for whom ?
The rain-cloud is come and has shed its doleful tears
all over the grass. It is not suitable to live without the rose-coloured wine.
This grass is to-day a feast for our eyes; the grass that
shall grow from our dust, for whose eyes shall it be a feast?
And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom,
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend--ourselves to make a Couch---for whom?
This verdure, which for the present is my pleasureground
Until the verdure (springing) from my clay shall become a pleasure-ground—for whom ?
Les nuages se répandent dans le ciel et recommencent à pleurer sur le gazon. Oh! il n'est plus possible de vivre un instant sans vin couleur d'amarante. Cette verdure réjouit aujourd'hui notre vue, mais celle qui germera de notre poussière, la vue de qui réjouira-t-elle?
Come again are the clouds and are weeping on meadow and tree:
Without cramozin wine it behoveth no moment to be.
To-day that this greensward's our pleasaunce, I wonder, ah me!
To-morrow what eyes that which springs from our ashes will see?
Again the clouds come and the meads revive —
Without red wine I 'd not an instant live —
This turf that now is my delight until
The grass from my dust joy to whom shall give?