Samuel Waddington, comp. The Sonnets of Europe. 1888.
The StruggleSully Prudhomme (18391907)
Translated by Arthur O’Shaughnessy
N
I dare the Sphinx with faith and unbelief;
And through lone hours when no sleep brings relief
The monster rises all my hopes to flout.
I wrestle with the Unknown; nor long nor brief
The night appears, my narrow couch of grief
Grown like the grave with Death walled round about.
Seeing my brow as with a death-sweat damp,
Asks, “Ah, what ails thee, child? hast thou no rest?”
Holding my beating heart and forehead burning,
“Mother, I strove with God, and was hard prest.”