Winter

With little money in a great city

There’s snow in every street Where I go up and down, And there’s no woman, man, or dog That knows me in the town.

I know each shop, and all These Jews, and Russian Poles, For I go walking night and noon To spare my sack of coals.

THE CURSE.

To a sister of an enemy of the author’s who disapproved of “The Playboy.”

Lord, confound this surly sister, Blight her brow with blotch and blister, Cramp her larynx, lung, and liver, In her guts a galling give her.

Let her live to earn her dinners In Mountjoy with seedy sinners: Lord, this judgment quickly bring, And I’m your servant, J. M. Synge.

TRANSLATIONS FROM PETRARCH