Post by serialshippersince4e on Jul 25, 2014 11:16:33 GMT
This is from a book I've always loved, Message by Fernando Pessoa (1888-1935), and I think it could apply to Georg who misses, as we usually analyse, not only the sea of his youth but also the greatness of his nation, especially the pain he must have felt after the fall of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. This is just a translation I've found on the Internet, since the original text is in my own language, Portuguese:
Prayer
Lord, the night has come and the spirit is low.
So great was the storm and the strife!
What is left to us today, in the hostile silence,
Are the universal sea and a yearning.
But the flame, that life created within us,
If there is still life, 'tis not yet done.
The deathly cold concealed it in ash:
The hand of the wind may yet raise it.
Give the breath, the breeze - or misfortune or the eager desire-
With which the flame of endeavour is rejuvenated,
And again shall we conquer the Remoteness-
Of the sea or some other, but let it be our own!
Prayer
Lord, the night has come and the spirit is low.
So great was the storm and the strife!
What is left to us today, in the hostile silence,
Are the universal sea and a yearning.
But the flame, that life created within us,
If there is still life, 'tis not yet done.
The deathly cold concealed it in ash:
The hand of the wind may yet raise it.
Give the breath, the breeze - or misfortune or the eager desire-
With which the flame of endeavour is rejuvenated,
And again shall we conquer the Remoteness-
Of the sea or some other, but let it be our own!
