The Song of the Heart

Just another Wecksell translation: He wrote 215 poems in his brief period of activity, mainly as a youth, like Rimbaud.

The heart knows not of peace
and dares not hold a faith,
it only beats in constant worry,
and who ever understood its sighs?

Bright eyes of blue,
why must you sparkle so?
and heavenly charming smile,
why must you outshine heaven?

You took my peace away,
the heart is robbed of all its faith,
it only knows for sure one thing, –
the durability of love in all eternity.

I dream, but all my dreams are battles,
waking up, there is no peace,
I break with all my heart and cannot die
and burn in ice and snow.

My hope is thwarted constantly,
my doubts are like a joke,
and I am only calmed
to feel my heart run wild again.

And standing by my grave,
and falling down, I would still burn
and fight with sword and helmet
against all the world for you,

and if I were the god of all the stars,
I would still have you as my bride,
and if I only were a beggar,
I would beg from no one else but you.