(Translation of Paul Verlaine’s « Claire de lune » by T. Wignesan. Again I try to keep to the original syntactic patterns and visible layout, but I must admit I could produce other renderings which could equally do justice to the probable « intention » of the poet.)
None may ask for better landscape than where souls lie
Wherein might rove charmingly masked bergamaskers
Strumming their luths while dancing but who well nigh
Look stricken under their outlandish disguises.
Verily singing in a murmurous tone
Love that triumphs and life’s seizable worthiness
Yet hardly seem to believe in their own good fortune
And their song dissipates into moonlight’s pallidness,
Into that sad yet pleasing stillness the moon engenders
Which must surely induce birds in trees to dream
And to gush ecstatic through sturdy water spurts,
Tall chiselled water columns against marble gleam.