Along the cliff, over the abyss, On the very edge I lash my horses with my whip - I urge them on! I don’t have enough air: I drink the wind, I swallow the fog, I feel with disastrous delight: I’m fading, I’m fading! Slow down a little, my horses, Just a little slower, Do not listen to the sharp lash. But it seems I’ve ended up with capricious horses And I haven’t had time to live, No time to finish my song. I’ll give my horses a drink, I’ll finish singing my verse, And for only just a moment longer, I’ll stand on the edge...                                        
© Matthew Ryklin. Translation, 2013