Prince Free-as-a-Bird's Songs

"The Undecaying" Is but thy label, God the betraying Is poets' fable.¹⁵

"The Undecaying" Is only your label, God the betrayer Is a poets' fable.¹⁵

Our aims all are thwarted By the World-wheel's blind roll: "Doom," says the downhearted, "Sport," says the fool.

All our aims are frustrated By the blind turning of the world-wheel: "Doom," says the discouraged person, "Play," says the fool.

The World-sport, all-ruling, Mingles false with true: The Eternally Fooling Makes us play, too!

The World-sport, ruling all, Mixes false with true: The Eternally Fooling Makes us play, too!

As 'neath a shady tree I sat After long toil to take my pleasure, I heard a tapping "pit-a-pat" Beat prettily in rhythmic measure. Tho' first I scowled, my face set hard, The sound at length my sense entrapping Forced me to speak like any bard, And keep true time unto the tapping.

As I sat beneath a shady tree After long work, resting for pleasure, I heard a tapping "pit-a-pat" Beating prettily in rhythm. Though at first I frowned and set my face, The sound eventually captured my senses And made me speak like a poet, Keeping time with the tapping.

As I made verses, never stopping, Each syllable the bird went after, Keeping in time with dainty hopping! I burst into unmeasured laughter! What, you a poet? You a poet? Can your brains truly so addled be? "Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet," Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.

As I kept writing verses, The bird followed every syllable, Hopping delicately in time! I burst out laughing without restraint! What, you a poet? You a poet? Can you really be so confused? "Yes, yes, sir, you are a poet," The pecker chirped, mocking me.

What doth me to these woods entice? The chance to give some thief a trouncing? A saw, an image? Ha, in a trice My rhyme is on it, swiftly pouncing! All things that creep or crawl the poet Weaves in his word-loom cunningly. "Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet," Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.

What draws me into these woods? The chance to beat up some thief? A proverb, an image? Ha, in no time My rhyme pounces on it! Everything that creeps or crawls, the poet Skillfully weaves into his loom of words. "Yes, yes, sir, you are a poet," Chirped the woodpecker, mocking me.

Like to an arrow, methinks, a verse is, See how it quivers, pricks and smarts When shot full straight (no tender mercies!) Into the reptile's nobler parts! Wretches, you die at the hand of the poet, Or stagger like men that have drunk too free. "Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet," Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.

I think a verse is like an arrow. See how it quivers, pricks, and stings When shot straight, without mercy, Into the reptile's nobler parts! Wretches, you die at the poet's hand, Or stagger like men who have drunk too much. "Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet," The pecker chirped, mocking me.

So they go hurrying, stanzas malign, Drunken words—what a clattering, banging!— Till the whole company, line on line, All on the rhythmic chain are hanging. Has he really a cruel heart, your poet? Are there fiends who rejoice, the slaughter to see? "Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet," Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.

So the malicious verses hurry along, Drunken words, what a clatter and a bang! Until the whole company, line after line, Hangs from the chain of rhythm. Does your poet really have a cruel heart? Are there fiends who delight in watching slaughter? "Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet," The pecker chirped, mocking me.

So you jest at me, bird, with your scornful graces? So sore indeed is the plight of my head? And my heart, you say, in yet sorrier case is? Beware! for my wrath is a thing to dread! Yet e'en in the hour of his wrath the poet Rhymes you and sings with the selfsame glee. "Yes, yes, good sir, you are a poet," Chirped out the pecker, mocking me.

So you're mocking me, bird, with your scornful charm? Is my head really in such a sorry state? And my heart, you say, is in even worse shape? Watch out! My anger is something to fear! Yet even when the poet is angry, He rhymes and sings about you with the same delight. "Yes, yes, sir, you are a poet," The woodpecker chirped, mocking me.

I swing on a bough, and rest My tired limbs in a nest, In the rocking home of a bird, Wherein I perch as his guest, In the South!¹⁶

I swing on a branch and rest My tired limbs in a nest, In a bird's rocking home, Where I perch as his guest, In the South!¹⁶

I gaze on the ocean asleep, On the purple sail of a boat; On the harbour and tower steep, On the rocks that stand out of the deep, In the South!

I look at the sleeping ocean, At the purple sail of a boat, At the harbor and steep tower, At the rocks rising from the deep, In the South!

For I could no longer stay, To crawl in slow German way; So I called to the birds, bade the wind Lift me up and bear me away To the South!

For I could no longer stay, Crawling along in the slow German way. So I called to the birds and asked the wind To lift me up and carry me away To the South!

No reasons for me, if you please; Their end is too dull and too plain; But a pair of wings and a breeze, With courage and health and ease, And games that chase disease From the South!

No reasons for me, please. Where they lead is too dull and plain. Give me a pair of wings and a breeze, With courage, health, and ease, And games that chase disease From the South!

Wise thoughts can move without sound, But I've songs that I can't sing alone; So birdies, pray gather around, And listen to what I have found In the South!

Wise thoughts can move silently, But I have songs I can't sing alone; So little birds, please gather around, And listen to what I have found In the South!

"You are merry lovers and false and gay, In frolics and sport you pass the day; Whilst in the North, I shudder to say, I worshipped a woman, hideous and gray, Her name was Truth, so I heard them say, But I left her there and I flew away To the South!"

"You are cheerful lovers, deceitful and carefree, You spend your days playing and having fun. But in the North, I shudder to say, I worshipped a woman, hideous and gray. Her name was Truth, or so I heard. But I left her there and fled To the South!"

While beauty in my face is, Be piety my care, For God, you know, loves lasses, And, more than all, the fair. And if yon hapless monkling Is fain with me to live, Like many another monkling, God surely will forgive.

While my face is still beautiful, Let me devote myself to piety, For God, you know, loves young women, And most of all, the beautiful ones. And if that poor young monk Wants to live with me, Like many another young monk, God will surely forgive him.

No grey old priestly devil, But, young, with cheeks aflame— Who e'en when sick with revel, Can jealous be and blame. To greybeards I'm a stranger, And he, too, hates the old: Of God, the world-arranger, The wisdom here behold!

Not a gray, old priestly devil, But young, with flaming cheeks. Even when sick from revelry, He can be jealous and blame others. I have nothing to do with old men, And he hates the old too: Here is the wisdom of God, The one who orders the world!

The Church has ken of living, And tests by heart and face. To me she'll be forgiving! Who will not show me grace? I lisp with pretty halting, I curtsey, bid "good day," And with the fresh defaulting I wash the old away!

The Church knows how to live, And judges by heart and face. It will forgive me! Who would not show me grace? I lisp and stumble charmingly, I curtsy and say "good day," And with a fresh offense I wash the old one away!

Praise be this man-God's guerdon, Who loves all maidens fair, And his own heart can pardon The sin he planted there. While beauty in my face is, With piety I'll stand, When age has killed my graces, Let Satan claim my hand!

Praise is this man-God's reward, Who loves all beautiful young women, And can forgive his own heart For the sin he planted there. While my face is still beautiful, I will remain devout. When age has destroyed my beauty, Let Satan take my hand!

Yester-eve, when all things slept— Scarce a breeze to stir the lane— I a restless vigil kept, Nor from pillows sleep could gain, Nor from poppies nor—most sure Of opiates—a conscience pure.

Last night, when everything slept, And hardly a breeze stirred the lane, I lay awake, restless. My pillows could not bring me sleep, Nor could poppies, nor a clear conscience, The surest of all sleeping drugs.

Thoughts of rest I 'gan forswear, Rose and walked along the strand, Found, in warm and moonlit air, Man and boat upon the sand, Drowsy both, and drowsily Did the boat put out to sea.

I began to give up thoughts of rest, Got up and walked along the shore, Found, in the warm moonlit air, A man and a boat on the sand. Both were drowsy, and drowsily The boat set out to sea.

Passed an hour or two perchance, Or a year? then thought and sense Vanished in the engulfing trance Of a vast Indifference. Fathomless, abysses dread Opened—then the vision fled.

Perhaps an hour or two passed, Or a year? Then thought and awareness Vanished in the engulfing trance Of a vast indifference. Terrifying, bottomless abysses Opened, then the vision faded.

Morning came: becalmed, the boat Rested on the purple flood: "What had happened?" every throat Shrieked the question: "was there—Blood?" Naught had happened! On the swell We had slumbered, oh, so well!

Morning came. With no wind, the boat Rested on the purple water. "What had happened?" everyone Shrieked. "Was there blood?" Nothing had happened! On the waves, We had slept so very well!

Oh marvel! there he flies Cleaving the sky with wings unmoved—what force Impels him, bids him rise, What curb restrains him? Where's his goal, his course?

Oh, what a wonder! There he flies, Cutting through the sky without moving his wings. What force Drives him, makes him rise? What holds him back? Where is he going, and by what path?

Like stars and time eterne He liveth now in heights that life forswore, Nor envy's self doth spurn: A lofty flight were't, e'en to see him soar!

Like the stars and eternal time, He now lives in heights that have renounced life, And he does not reject even envy itself. It would take a lofty flight just to see him soar!

Oh albatross, great bird, Speeding me upward ever through the blue! I thought of her, was stirred To tears unending—yea, I love her true!

Oh albatross, great bird, Carrying me ever upward through the blue sky! I thought of her and was moved To endless tears. Yes, I truly love her!

Here I lie, my bowels sore, Hosts of bugs advancing, Yonder lights and romp and roar! What's that sound? They're dancing!

Here I lie, my stomach sore, Swarms of bugs advancing, Over there, lights, fun, and roar! What's that sound? They're dancing!

At this instant, so she prated, Stealthily she'd meet me: Like a faithful dog I've waited, Not a sign to greet me!

She said she'd meet me right now, Secretly, she said. I've waited like a faithful dog, But there's no sign of her!

She promised, made the cross-sign, too, Could her vows be hollow? Or runs she after all that woo, Like the goats I follow?

She promised and made the sign of the cross, too. Could her promises be empty? Or does she run after everyone who woos her, Like the goats I follow?

Whence your silken gown, my maid? Ah, you'd fain be haughty, Yet perchance you've proved a jade With some satyr naughty!

Where did you get your silk gown, my girl? Ah, you want to act proud, Yet perhaps you behaved like a loose woman With some naughty satyr!

Waiting long, the lovelorn wight Is filled with rage and poison: Even so on sultry night Toadstools grow in foison.

After a long wait, the lovesick person Is filled with rage and poison: Just as on a hot, humid night Toadstools grow in abundance.

Pinching sore, in devil's mood, Love doth plague my crupper: Truly I can eat no food: Farewell, onion-supper!

Pinching painfully, in a devilish mood, Love plagues my backside: I really can't eat any food: Goodbye, onion supper!

Seaward sinks the moon away, The stars are wan, and flare not: Dawn approaches, gloomy, grey, Let Death come! I care not!

The moon sinks toward the sea, The stars are dim and do not shine: Dawn approaches, gloomy and grey, Let Death come! I don't care!

Souls that lack determination Rouse my wrath to white-hot flame! All their glory's but vexation, All their praise but self-contempt and shame!

People without determination Make my anger burn white-hot! All their glory is nothing but frustration, All their praise is nothing but self-contempt and shame!

Since I baffle their advances, Will not clutch their leading-string, They would wither me with glances Bitter-sweet, with hopeless envy sting.

Since I frustrate their attempts, And refuse to be led by them, They would wither me with bitter-sweet looks, And sting me with hopeless envy.

Let them with fell curses shiver, Curl their lip the livelong day! Seek me as they will, forever Helplessly their eyes shall go astray!

Let them tremble with fierce curses, And curl their lips all day! No matter how they search for me, forever Their eyes will wander helplessly astray!

Ah, what I wrote on board and wall With foolish heart, in foolish scrawl, I meant but for their decoration!

Ah, what I wrote on boards and walls, With a foolish heart, in foolish scribbles, Was meant only to decorate them!

Yet say you, "Fools' abomination! Both board and wall require purgation, And let no trace our eyes appal!"

Yet you say, "An abomination of fools! Both table and wall must be cleaned, And let no trace remain to offend our eyes!"

Well, I will help you, as I can, For sponge and broom are my vocation, As critic and as waterman.

Well, I will help you as best I can, For my work is with sponge and broom, As a critic and a waterman.

But when the finished work I scan, I'm glad to see each learned owl With "wisdom" board and wall defoul.

But when I look at the finished work, I'm glad to see each learned owl Foul the table and wall with "wisdom".

From thy moist lips, O Time, thou witch, beslavering me, Hour upon hour too slowly drips In vain—I cry, in frenzy's fit, "A curse upon that yawning pit, A curse upon Eternity!"

From your wet lips, Time, you witch, drooling on me, Hour after hour drips too slowly In vain. In a frenzy, I cry, "A curse on that gaping pit, A curse on Eternity!"

The world's of brass, A fiery bullock, deaf to wail: Pain's dagger pierces my cuirass, Wingéd, and writes upon my bone: "Bowels and heart the world hath none, Why scourge her sins with anger's flail?"

The world is made of brass, A fiery bull, deaf to cries: Pain's winged dagger pierces my armor And writes on my bone: "The world has no guts or heart. Why lash her sins with anger?"

Pour poppies now, Pour venom, Fever, on my brain! Too long you test my hand and brow: What ask you? "What—reward is paid?" A malediction on you, jade, And your disdain!

Pour poppies now, Pour poison, Fever, on my brain! You have tested my hand and brow too long. What do you ask? "What reward is paid?" A curse on you, you nasty woman, And on your scorn!

No, I retract, 'Tis cold—I hear the rain importune— Fever, I'll soften, show my tact: Here's gold—a coin—see it gleam! Shall I with blessings on you beam, Call you "good fortune"?

No, I take it back. It's cold. I hear the rain beating down. Fever, I'll be gentler and more tactful: Here's gold, a coin. See it gleam! Shall I smile and bless you, And call you "good fortune"?

The door opes wide, And raindrops on my bed are scattered, The light's blown out—woes multiplied! He that hath not an hundred rhymes, I'll wager, in these dolorous times We'd see him shattered!

The door swings wide open, And raindrops scatter on my bed, The light blows out, and troubles multiply! Anyone without a hundred rhymes, I’d wager, in these miserable times, Would be shattered!

Once more, St Mark, thy pigeons meet my gaze, The Square lies still, in slumbering morning mood: In soft, cool air I fashion idle lays, Speeding them skyward like a pigeon's brood: And then recall my minions To tie fresh rhymes upon their willing pinions. My bliss! My bliss!

Once again, St Mark, I see your pigeons. The Square lies still in the sleepy morning. In the soft, cool air, I make idle verses, Sending them into the sky like a flock of pigeons. Then I call my little servants back To tie new rhymes to their willing wings. My joy! My joy!

Calm heavenly roof of azure silkiness, Guarding with shimmering haze yon house divine! Thee, house, I love, fear—envy, I'll confess, And gladly would suck out that soul of thine! "Should I give back the prize?" Ask not, great pasture-ground for human eyes! My bliss! My bliss!

Calm heavenly roof of silky blue, Sheltering that divine house with a shimmering haze! House, I love and fear you. I confess, I envy you, And I would gladly suck out your soul! "Should I give back the prize?" Do not ask, great pasture for human eyes! My bliss! My bliss!

Stern belfry, rising as with lion's leap Sheer from the soil in easy victory, That fill'st the Square with peal resounding, deep, Wert thou in French that Square's "accent aigu"? Were I for ages set In earth like thee, I know what silk-meshed net.... My bliss! My bliss!

Stern bell tower, rising like a leaping lion Straight from the ground in easy victory, You fill the Square with deep, resounding bells. Would you be the Square's "accent aigu" in French? If I stood for ages Rooted in the earth like you, I know what silk-meshed net.... My bliss! My bliss!

Hence, music! First let darker shadows come, And grow, and merge into brown, mellow night! 'Tis early for your pealing, ere the dome Sparkle in roseate glory, gold-bedight While yet 'tis day, there's time For strolling, lonely muttering, forging rhyme— My bliss! My bliss!

So, music! First let darker shadows come, And grow, and blend into a soft brown night! It is too early for your ringing notes, before the dome Sparkles in rosy glory, adorned with gold. While it is still day, there is time To stroll, mutter to myself, and make up rhymes. My bliss! My bliss!

Thither I'll travel, that's my notion, I'll trust myself, my grip, Where opens wide and blue the ocean I'll ply my Genoa ship.

That's where I'll travel, I've decided. I'll trust myself and my grip. Where the ocean opens wide and blue, I'll sail my Genoa ship.

New things on new the world unfolds me, Time, space with noonday die: Alone thy monstrous eye beholds me, Awful Infinity!

The world reveals new things to me, Time and space die at noon. Only your monstrous eye sees me, Terrible Infinity!

Here sat I waiting, waiting, but for naught! Beyond all good and evil—now by light wrought

Here I sat, waiting and waiting, but for nothing! Beyond all good and evil, now shaped by light.

To joy, now by dark shadows—all was leisure, All lake, all noon, all time sans aim, sans measure.

To joy, now beneath dark shadows, all was leisure, All lake, all noon, all time without aim or measure.

Then one, dear friend, was swiftly changed to twain, And Zarathustra left my teeming brain....

Then one quickly became two, dear friend, And Zarathustra emerged from my overflowing mind....

Wildly rushing, clouds outleaping, Care-destroying, Heaven sweeping, Mistral wind, thou art my friend! Surely 'twas one womb did bear us, Surely 'twas one fate did pair us, Fellows for a common end.¹⁷

Rushing wildly, leaping past clouds, Sweeping the sky, driving cares away, Mistral wind, you are my friend! Surely the same womb bore us, Surely the same fate paired us, Companions with a common purpose.¹⁷

From the crags I gaily greet you, Running fast I come to meet you, Dancing while you pipe and sing. How you bound across the ocean, Unimpeded, free in motion, Swifter than with boat or wing!

From the cliffs I happily greet you, Running fast to meet you, Dancing while you play and sing. How you leap across the ocean, Moving freely, without obstacles, Faster than any boat or bird!

Through my dreams your whistle sounded, Down the rocky stairs I bounded To the golden ocean wall; Saw you hasten, swift and glorious, Like a river, strong, victorious, Tumbling in a waterfall.

Your whistle sounded through my dreams. I raced down the rocky stairs To the golden wall of the ocean. I saw you rushing, swift and glorious, Like a river, strong and victorious, Tumbling down a waterfall.

Saw you rushing over Heaven, With your steeds so wildly driven, Saw the car in which you flew; Saw the lash that wheeled and quivered, While the hand that held it shivered, Urging on the steeds anew.

I saw you rushing across the sky, Driving your horses wildly, I saw the chariot in which you flew. I saw the whip swing and quiver, While the hand holding it trembled, Driving the horses onward again.

Saw you from your chariot swinging, So that swifter downward springing Like an arrow you might go Straight into the deep abysses, As a sunbeam falls and kisses Roses in the morning glow.

I saw you swing from your chariot, So that you could plunge faster, Like an arrow, straight down Into the deep abysses, As a sunbeam falls and kisses Roses in the morning light.

Dance, oh! dance on all the edges, Wave-crests, cliffs and mountain ledges, Ever finding dances new! Let our knowledge be our gladness, Let our art be sport and madness, All that's joyful shall be true!

Dance, oh, dance on every edge, On wave tops, cliffs, and mountain ledges, Always finding new dances! Let our knowledge bring us joy, Let our art be play and madness, Everything joyful shall be true!

Let us snatch from every bower, As we pass, the fairest flower, With some leaves to make a crown; Then, like minstrels gaily dancing, Saint and witch together prancing, Let us foot it up and down.

Let us pick the loveliest flower from every garden As we pass by, And gather some leaves to make a crown. Then, like musicians dancing joyfully, Saint and witch dancing together, Let us dance back and forth.

Those who come must move as quickly As the wind—we'll have no sickly, Crippled, withered, in our crew; Off with hypocrites and preachers, Proper folk and prosy teachers, Sweep them from our heaven blue.

Those who come must move as quickly As the wind. We'll have no sick, Crippled, or withered people in our crew. Away with hypocrites and preachers, Proper people and boring teachers. Sweep them from our blue heaven.

Sweep away all sad grimaces, Whirl the dust into the faces Of the dismal sick and cold! Hunt them from our breezy places, Not for them the wind that braces, But for men of visage bold.

Sweep away all sad faces, Blow dust into the faces Of the gloomy, sick, and cold! Chase them from our windy places. The refreshing wind is not for them, But for men with bold faces.

Off with those who spoil earth's gladness, Blow away all clouds of sadness, Till our heaven clear we see; Let me hold thy hand, best fellow, Till my joy like tempest bellow! Freest thou of spirits free!

Away with those who spoil the earth’s joy, Blow away all the clouds of sadness, Until we can see our clear sky. Let me hold your hand, my best friend, Until my joy roars like a storm! You are the freest of free spirits!

When thou partest, take a token Of the joy thou hast awoken, Take our wreath and fling it far; Toss it up and catch it never, Whirl it on before thee ever, Till it reach the farthest star.

When you leave, take a token Of the joy you have awakened, Take our wreath and throw it far. Toss it up and never catch it, Keep it spinning ahead of you, Until it reaches the farthest star.