Le premier, beau comme du Shakespeare:
Where is the horse and the rider?
Where is the horn that was blowing?
They have passed like rain on the mountains.
Like wind in the meadow.
The days have gone down in the west.
Behind the hills, into shadow.
How did it come to this?
Le second, beau et triste comme un amour impossible:
And there will be no comfort for you.
No comfort to ease the pain of his passing.
He will come to death, an image of the splendor of the kings of men in glory undimmed before the breaking of the world.
But you, my daughter, you will linger on in darkness and in doubt.
As nightfall in winter that comes without a star.
Here you will dwell, bound to your grief, under the fading trees, until all the world is changed
and the long years of your life are utterly spent.
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