To the Muse

In your innermost songs there are hidden
Fateful tidings of death.
A curse on sacred commandments,
And a profanation of joy.
And such an alluring strength
That I'm ready to pass on the rumor
That you brought angels down
With your seductive beauty...
And when you mock faith
That dim, purplish-gray
Circle I've seen before
Suddenly blazes above you
Evil or good? - You're thoroughly alien.
People speak of you enigmatically:
For some you are Muse and miracle
For me you are torment and hell.
I don't know why, at dawn,
At the time of my last strength,
Rather than die, I caught sight of your face
And begged your consolation.
I wanted us to be enemies,
So why did you present me
With flowering meadows, the starry vault-
The curse of your beauty?
More treacherous than a northern night,
More heady than golden champagne,
And more fickle than a gypsy's love
Were your terrible caresses...
And there was a fatal delight
In flouting sacred truths,
And my heart was maddened
By this bitter, wormwood passion.