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TRUE LOVE IS DARK...

               "Love... isn't worth the toil."
                Mikhail Lermontov

True love is dark as truth itself and bitter-sour
As weeds.  And salt becomes more salty almost daily.
It's time to change the scene: can't be a dromedary
For life, ad finem, to the last confession's hour.
        Sage books will never end, whereas in desert's heath
        Roget's Thesaurus comes of little help, if any.
        Though blest is he who, firm of spirit, plumbs the truth – 
        But truths are many, many...

At times Queen Fortune looms before me, and I see
Her eyes are empty and incapable of vision.
From year to year displaying more and more profusion,
Her stores of treasure wink seductively at me.
        I steal!..  Who doesn't, but the lazy, in our day?
        I seize forbidden fruit and do not get imprisoned.
        Queen Fate sees nothing, pays no heed in any way.
        But joy still isn't, isn't...

"Cheer up!" calls out my guardian-angel of the earth,
"Endure; sour weeds will yield to primroses of pleasure.
The mead of love and bane of loss in equal measure
Do good to him who, firm of spirit, plumbs the truth."
        "You're right, I answer, loss is no thing to regret.
        Love counts for more, but even love is worth no toiling..."
        And so my foot is light, my look is bright, and yet
        The heart is ailing, ailing...