Tragedy
O little child,
O one-and-a-half-year-old sonny,
When you walk into my house
With your little, stumbling steps,
You actually enter my heart
In the form of a sort of bliss.
Straining your chubby chicks
When you smile, nay, laugh, it sounds
Sweeter than the peels from heaven.
And then your two tiny teeth that appear
Between your unpursed lips make you
All the more sweet.
Ah! your untied, swirling locks
Are softer than the breeze.
And your small shiny eyes
Are damper than the river.
Your whole plump little figure
Has the supremacy of an angel.
You arouse a craving in my heart
To have as captivating a child as yourself
Of my own, and the loveliest-in-the-world
Wife of mine.
But ah! my angel, oh! my little darling,
It pains me see you growing up
Day-by-day, moment-by-moment...
Turning more and more human!
And I hate you for that!
For you would either make a wise man
And lead a life so sordid,
So wretched, so full of miseries as mine,
That I wish you not, o darling;
Or you would become an head-off,
A typical human-
Oh, you had better be dead instead!
There is no greater tragedy, I ain't sorry to say,
Than a growing human child...
O sonny, I love you not!
O little angel, I love you not...