Ballad of the Exterior Life HUGO VON HOFMANNSTHAL (1951) Translated by Stephen S

Ballad of the Exterior Life

And children grow up with their deep-eyed gaze
Who know of nothing, they grow up and die,
And all mankind continue on their ways.

And from the bitter the sweet fruits grow high
And in the night they fall down like dead birds
And lie there a few days and putrefy.

And the wind ever blows and many words
Are said by us, who learn ever anew,
And we taste joy and limbs becoming tired.

And streets run through grass and places show
Here and there, with torches, a pond, trees,
And menacing, and deathly-withered too . . .

Wherefore were they built up? And why are these
Never alike? And are too many to name?
What takes the place of laughter, tears, disease?

What use all this to us, and all this game
Of growing old and ever being alone
And wandering never seeking any aim?

What use of such things to have seen so many?
Yet much is said by him who “evening” says
A word from which deep meaning and grief run
As from the hollow comb the heavy honey.