At Verona

How steep the stairs within Kings' houses are

For exile-wearied feet as mine to tread,

And O how salt and bitter is the bread

Which falls from this Hound's table, —better far

That I had died in the red ways of war,

Or that the gate of Florence bare my head,

Than to live thus, by all things comraded

Which seek the essence of my soul to mar.



'Curse God and die: what better hope than this?

He hath forgotten thee in all the bliss

Of his gold city, and eternal day'—

Nay peace: behind my prison's blinded bars

I do possess what none can take away,

My love, and all the glory of the stars.

在维罗纳

对我辈因流放而疲惫的双脚而言，

王宫的台阶显得过于陡峭，

哦，从卑劣者饭桌上掉落的

一片面包多么咸涩多么辛辣，——

我宁愿仆倒于染血的战争之路，

或者让头颅悬挂佛罗伦萨的城门上，

也胜过苟延残喘，万物结成同盟，

处心积虑地玷污我灵魂的本质。



“骂一声上帝，死去：还有更好的希望？

他已将你遗忘，在永恒的白昼里

享受黄金城里极乐的一切。”——

没有安宁：在我监狱盲目的铁窗背后，

我拥有无人可以掠夺的财富，

我的爱，以及星辰所有的荣光。