Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Luís Vaz de Camões

Oh how long, year after year . . .

Oh how long, year after year,
my weary journey has kept on going!
How short a space until my brief
and useless human rambling ends!

Time wastes away and my ruin increases;
a remedy I used to have is gone.
If we can judge from past experience,
every large hope is a grand illusion.

I chase some good that can’t be had:
when halfway there, I’ve lost the trail;
falling a thousand times, I despair.

It flees, I lag; and if, in my lagging,
I look up to see if it’s still there,
it’s lost from sight and lost from hope.

Oh how long, year after year . . .

Oh! como se me alonga, de ano em ano,
a peregrinação cansada minha!
Como se encurta, e como ao fim caminha
este meu breve e vão discurso humano!

Vai-se gastando a idade e cresce o dano;
perde-se-me um remédio, que inda tinha;
se por experiência se adivinha,
qualquer grande esperança é grande engano.

Corro após este bem que não se alcança;
no meio do caminho me falece,
mil vezes caio, e perco a confiança.

Quando ele foge, eu tardo; e, na tardança,
se os olhos ergo a ver se inda parece,
da vista se me perde e da esperança.
Close

Oh how long, year after year . . .

Oh how long, year after year,
my weary journey has kept on going!
How short a space until my brief
and useless human rambling ends!

Time wastes away and my ruin increases;
a remedy I used to have is gone.
If we can judge from past experience,
every large hope is a grand illusion.

I chase some good that can’t be had:
when halfway there, I’ve lost the trail;
falling a thousand times, I despair.

It flees, I lag; and if, in my lagging,
I look up to see if it’s still there,
it’s lost from sight and lost from hope.

Oh how long, year after year . . .

Oh how long, year after year,
my weary journey has kept on going!
How short a space until my brief
and useless human rambling ends!

Time wastes away and my ruin increases;
a remedy I used to have is gone.
If we can judge from past experience,
every large hope is a grand illusion.

I chase some good that can’t be had:
when halfway there, I’ve lost the trail;
falling a thousand times, I despair.

It flees, I lag; and if, in my lagging,
I look up to see if it’s still there,
it’s lost from sight and lost from hope.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère