Душонка

[piggymouse]

Animula ‘Issues from the hand of God, the simple soul’ To a flat world of changing lights and noise, To light, dark, dry or damp, chilly or warm; Moving between the legs of tables and of chairs, Rising or falling, grasping at kisses and toys, Advancing boldly, sudden to take alarm, Retreating to the corner of arm and knee, Eager to be reassured, taking pleasure In the fragrant brilliance of the Christmas tree, Pleasure in the wind, the sunlight and the sea; Studies the sunlit pattern on the floor And running stags around a silver tray; Confounds the actual and the fanciful, Content with playing-cards and kings and queens, What the fairies do and what the servants say. The heavy burden of the growing soul Perplexes and offends more, day by day; Week by week, offends and perplexes more With the imperatives of ‘is and seems’ And may and may not, desire and control. The pain of living and the drug of dreams Curl up the small soul in the window seat Behind the Encyclopaedia Britannica. Issues from the hand of time, the simple soul Irresolute and selfish, misshapen, lame, Unable to fare forward or retreat, Fearing the warm reality, the offered good, Denying the importunity of the blood, Shadow of its own shadows, spectre in its own gloom, Leaving disordered papers in a dusty room; Living first in the silence after the viaticum. Pray for Guiterriez, avid of speed and power, For Boudin, blown to pieces, For this one who made a great fortune, And that one who went his own way. Pray for Floret, by the boarhound slain between the yew trees, Pray for us now and at the hour of our birth.

Animula vagula blandula Hospes comesque corporus Quæ nunc abibis in loca Pallidula rigida nudula Nec ut soles dabis iocos Roving amiable little soul, Body's companion and guest, Now descending for parts Colourless, unbending, and bare Your usual distractions no more shall be there. Little soul, little wanderer, little charmer, Body’s guest and companion, To what places will you set out now? To darkling, cold and gloomy ones — And you won’t be making your usual jokes. Little soul, wandering and pale, Guest and companion of my body, You who will now go off to places Pale, stiff, and barren, Nor will you make jokes as has been your wont. Pale little vagrant soul, My body's guest and friend, Where are you off to now, Pale, cold, and naked, Bereft the jokes we used to share? Sweet little soul, fickle, yet cuddlesome, My body's guest in close companionship, Into what regions art thou flitting now, Thy little self so naked, pale and cold — Forgetting all the fun we used to have!