OBLIVION IS THY GOAL

Translated from Théophile Gautier by Sir Tollemaclie Siriclair. Be silent ! oh ! my heart ! be silent ! oh ! my soul ! And seek not quarrels with harsh Fate — too soon begun. For nothingness thee calls — oblivion is thy goal. My heart beat not, as thou art dead, thy race is run. My soul, fold back thy weary wings which are much torn, For thou'st made thy last effort, oh, unhappy one. Cease to resist harsh jealous Fate, no longer mourn. In Lethe's black stream quickly plunge with fitting grace. And let them place the last nails in thy coffin lorn. The parched sand of the road does not retain thy trace, The echo won't repeat thy song, and e'en the wall Will not reflect thy shadow vain which flits apace.