W. H. Auden

Epitaph on a Tyrant

Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,

And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;

He knew human folly like the back of his hand,

And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;

When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,

And when he cried the little children died in the streets.

 

Epitáfio para um tirano

Perfeição, de um tipo, era a sua jornada,

E a poesia que ele inventava era de fácil compreensão

Ele conhecia a estupidez humana como a palma da mão

E, em exércitos e frotas, bastante se interessava;

Quando ele ria, senadores respeitáveis estouravam em risada,

E as criancinhas morriam nas ruas, quando ele chorava.

 

 

(do livro "W. H. Auden - poems selected by John Fuller", Faber and Faber)