Arany János - Győrei Zsolt (szerk.): The trill of the nightingale (Budapest, 2019)

II - „dead bark burning in a hole” - I Lay Down the Lyre (George Szirtes)

I Lay Down the Lyre

I lay down the lyre. None should now Expect a song of me - that’s done.

I’m not as I was long ago.

The better part of me has gone,

Fire will not warm, its feeble light Is dead bark burning in a hole.

Where are you life? O life in spite - Where is the springtime of my soul?

Another sky was bright with smiles,

Birds on fresh boughs crowed fit to burst, Velvet covered the earth for miles When last my lips to singing pursed.

The night wind scented with delight I saw bright flowers down acres roll.

Where are you life? O life in spite - Where is the springtime of my soul?

My last song was not sung apart:

My lyre burned in desire of praise;

My friends looked on and knew my art - They knew well how the strings should blaze; From flame to flame we rose in flight Till each tongue echoed to the whole.

Where are you life? O life in spite - Where is the springtime of my soul?

We sang the hopes of years to come, Lamented years that long had passed;

Our countrymen, our nation home We wreathed in glory that should last;

Each song was a green leaf curled tight Within the laurel’s fiery scroll.

Where are you life? O life in spite - Where is the springtime of my soul?