Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer

Rhyme II: A headlong flying arrow

Arrow flying thru the heavens
shot off and crossing by chance,
no one ever ventures guesses
where it will tremblingly fall;
 
withered leaf of autumn forest
battered by southerly blast,
no one knowing in which hollow
it will happen soon to fall;
 
giant wave the wind and weather
twists and tosses out at sea,
rolling, passing, never knowing
on what beach it comes to fall;
 
light of wisps or vibrant haloes
shining, but only to fade,
not knowing which of their number
will shine on the last of all:
 
such am I, perhaps by hazard
crossing the earth come what may,
never knowing whence nor whither
my steps carry me today.
 
Translated by James H. Donalson
 

 
A headlong flying arrow
Fired by a random hand
Not knowing where its trembling
Steel tip shall pierce and stand.
 
A leaf from a dry tree-branch
Ripped by a crazy gust:
Unknowable the furrow
Where it shall fall at last.
 
A huge wave that the ocean's
Winds pull and push and lash,
Rolling with no idea
What beach it means to splash.
 
Lights in a hallway's torches
Burn, destined to expire,
None caring which possesses
The longest-lasting fire.
 
These things am I who travel
This world, who do not know
Where I am from nor whither
My willful feet will go.
 
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
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