The Complaints of an Icarus

The lovers of prostitutes Are happy, healthy, and sated; As for me, my arms are weary Because I have embraced the clouds, It is thanks to the peerless stars That flame in the depth of the sky That my burned out eyes see Only the memories of suns. I tried in vain to find The middle and the end of space; I know not under what fiery eye I feel my pinions breaking; Burned by love of the beautiful I shan't have the sublime honor Of giving my name to the abyss That will serve me as a tomb. Translated by - William Aggeler The Lamentations of an Icarus The lovers of prostitutes are Happy, cheerful, well-fed; As for me, my arms are broken Through having hugged the clouds. It is thanks to the incomparable stars, Blazing in the depths of the sky, That my devoured eyes see only The memories of suns. In vain I wished to find The center and the end of space; I know not under what fiery eye I feel my wings breaking; And burnt up by love of beauty, I shall not have the splendid honor Of giving my name to the abyss Which will serve as my grave. Translated by - Geoffrey Wagner Plaint of Icarus Lovers of prostitutes, in crowds, Are sated and content and cheery, But as for me, my arms are weary Because I have embraced the clouds. Thanks to the stars - O peerless ones! — That flame deep in the boundless sky, My burned-out eyes can now descry Only the memories of suns. In vain I sought to trace and fit Space in its mid and final stance I know not under what hot glance My wings are crumbling bit by bit. The love of beauty sealed my doom, Charred, I have not been granted this: To give my name to the abyss That is to serve me as a tomb. Translated by - Jacques LeClercq Complaint of an Icarus Those who love whores are well-endowed, Spry, and well-fed, and cheerful-spoken. But, as for me, my arms are broken From trying to embrace a cloud. To what two peerless stars have done That kindle in the farthest skies, I owe it that my burnt-out eyes Know only memories of the sun. In vain I've tried to find the pole And the equator-line of space. I know not by what burning gaze The wings were molten from my soul. By love of beauty singed, I fall Yet fail the honour and the bliss To give my name to the abyss Which serves me for my tomb and pall. Translated by - Roy Campbell