Calcutta nr. 420 *
What profits it, our coming and going?
and where is the woof for the warp of the stuff of our life?
How many delicate bodies the world
burns away to dust! and where is the smoke of them?
What profits it, our coming and going
And what hope has the warp of the stuff of our existence
Beneath the wheel of heaven how many pure bodies
Burn away to dust, & where is the smoke of them ?
Yon castle which reared its wings heavenwards, and
in whose audience-hall kings prostrated themselves [to do homage],
on its pinnacle I saw a ring-dove sit cooing: "where?
where? where? where?"
Quel avantage a produit notre venue en ce monde? Quel avantage résultera de notre départ? Que nous reste-t-il du monceau d'espérances que nous avons conçues? Où est la fumée de tous ces hommes purs qui, sous ce cercle céleste, se consument et deviennent poussière?
Of our coming and going, lo! where's the behoof? Where?
To the warp of the hope of our life where's the woof? Where?
Where's the smoke in this world of the many high souls who've consumed,
Dust and ashes become, 'neath yon firmament's roof? Where?
What boots the coming, going of the race?
And life's woof found, where will you life’s warp place?
Consumed so many pure men, turned to dust,
Where in Heaven's dome is there of them a trace?