Saeta que voladora
cruza, arrojada al azar,
sin adivinarse dónde
temblando se clavará;
hoja del árbol seca
arrebata el vendaval,
sin que nadie acierte el surco
donde a caer volverá;
gigante ola que el viento
riza y empuja en el mar,
y rueda y pasa, y no sabe
qué playa buscando va;
luz que en los cercos temblorosos
brilla, próxima a expirar,
ignorándose cuál de ellos
el último brillará;
eso soy yo, que al acaso
cruzo el mundo, sin pensar
de dónde vengo, ni a dónde
mis pasos me llevarán.
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Bolt that flies
headlong, fired at random,
without divining where
it will nail itself, trembling;
leaf of a dry tree
snatched by the gale,
never guessing the furrow
into which it will fall;
giant wave that the wind
twists and pushes in the sea,
that rolls and moves, and knows not
what beach it is seeking;
lamps that shine on the flickering
wall, about to expire,
ignorant of which one
will shine the longest;
and I, who by chance
travel this world, without thinking
from where I am come, nor to where
my steps will take me.
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A rapid-flying dart, by Fate impelled
For blind destruction and which cannot know
Where it may find its quivering course repelled,
Nor why it strikes the blow.
A withered leaf, stripped from a famished tree
By frenzied autumn-gales in madd'ning dance;
Which ditch may shelter its extremity
Is hid in ignorance.
A monstrous billow, which the ocean wind
Curls and drives onward, lashes into foam;
Rolling, unheedful of what shore may find
For it a restful home.
A waxlight, flick'ring in a chandelier,
Which, ere it is extinguished, sputters low;
Which is the first to end its brief career
And which the last to go?
All these am I, - with blind, hap-hazard aim
I cross this world, without the slightest heed
From what mysterious origin I came,
Nor where my steps may lead.
Translated by Jules Renard
Copyright ©1908 by Richard G. Badger
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Arrow that flieth,
At random shot,
To fall to earth trembling
In some unknown spot;
Leaf that the whirlwind
From dead tree doth tear,
To rest in some furrow,
Unknowing where;
Wave that the sudden gale
Rouseth at sea,
Unknowing the strand
Where its end will be;
Lights that in sconces
Burn high and low,
Not knowing which flame
Farthest will glow;
Such am I, by chance
In the world, unknowing
Whence I come, nor whither
My steps are going.
Translated by Young Allison
Copyright ©1924 by Young Allison
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An aimless darting arrow
Through the distance flying,
Never knowing where
Its target may be lying;
A vagrant autumn leaf
By sea winds whirled around,
No one knowing where
It will fall to the ground;
A towering ocean wave,
Tossed in the storm's vast roar,
Swirling, passing, unaware
What beach it searches for;
A light that flickers, shines,
Wavers, all but dark,
Nor knows what trembling gleam
May be its final spark;
All of this am I;
I go my way unheeding,
Never knowing where
My footsteps may be leading.
Translated by Alice Jane McVan
Copyright date unknown (reprinted 1938)
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