To The Fates (after Hölderlin)

Just grant me one summer, powerful fates,

and a final autumn of lucid song,

so that, sated with music’s sweetness, this

soul may wholeheartedly die.


A poet not wielding his sacred might

in life shall find no quiet in Orcus,

yet once I have said the holy words I

came to say, spoken my art,


I’ll welcome then the still realm of the shades…

I will be at peace, although I must leave

all singing and travel alone; having

known the gods, I’ll ask no more.