At Verona
How steep the stairs within Kings' houses are
For exile-wearied feet as mine to tread,
And O how salt and bitter is the bread
Which falls from this Hound's table, —better far
That I had died in the red ways of war,
Or that the gate of Florence bare my head,
Than to live thus, by all things comraded
Which seek the essence of my soul to mar.
'Curse God and die: what better hope than this?
He hath forgotten thee in all the bliss
Of his gold city, and eternal day'—
Nay peace: behind my prison's blinded bars
I do possess what none can take away,
My love, and all the glory of the stars.
在維羅納
對我輩因流放而疲憊的雙腳而言,
王宮的臺階顯得過于陡峭,
哦,從卑劣者飯桌上掉落的
一片面包多么咸澀多么辛辣,——
我寧愿仆倒于染血的戰(zhàn)爭之路,
或者讓頭顱懸掛佛羅倫薩的城門上,
也勝過茍延殘喘,萬物結(jié)成同盟,
處心積慮地玷污我靈魂的本質(zhì)。
“罵一聲上帝,死去:還有更好的希望?
他已將你遺忘,在永恒的白晝里
享受黃金城里極樂的一切。”——
沒有安寧:在我監(jiān)獄盲目的鐵窗背后,
我擁有無人可以掠奪的財(cái)富,
我的愛,以及星辰所有的榮光。