Translation is by Herbert Howarth.
_____________
Like the elms we are,
Melancholy, branching out,
Blank of expression,
Silent.
Day will not rise again for us—
We have died.
Night will put no fear into us—
We are the substance of fear.
Terrors are our friends
And oblivion the loins about us.
All the storms are finished,
The absolute slumber come.
No yearning. No anger.
Also no menaces.
—Like the elms,
Dour, branching out,
Blank of expression,
Dead.
_____________