Edgar Allan Poe. To

Не жаль, что на пути земном
Не приземлённым был,
Что счастье многих лет вдвоём
Минутный гнев убил,
Что даже сирый пилигрим
Удачливее – пусть,
Вот жалость, став совсем чужим,
Тебе внушаю грусть.

Edgar Allan Poe(January 19, 1809 - October 7, 1849)

To

I heed not that my earthly lot
Hath -- little of Earth in it --
That years of love have been forgot
In the hatred of a minute: --
I mourn not that the desolate
Are happier, sweet, than I,
But that you sorrow for my fate
Who am a passer by.

Обнаружила нижеследующий вариант стихотворения;необходимо разобраться, почему Бальмонт ( и я вслед за ним(:)) перевёл только часть.

To M——(1828)

Poe toyed with the working title “Alone” before this poem was printed as “To M——” in Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane, and Minor Poems. Poe would use the title “Alone” in 1829.

O! I care not that my earthly lot

    Hath little of Earth in it,

That years of love have been forgot

    In the fever of a minute:
I heed not that the desolate

    Are happier, sweet, than I,

But that you meddle with my fate

    Who am a passer by.
It is not that my founts of bliss

    Are gushing — strange! with tears —

Or that the thrill of a single kiss

    Hath palsied many years —
’Tis not that the flowers of twenty springs

    Which have wither’d as they rose

Lie dead on my heart-strings

    With the weight of an age of snows.
Not that the grass — O! may it thrive!

    On my grave is growing or grown —

But that, while I am dead yet alive

    I cannot be, lady, alone.