Page:35 Sonnets by Fernando Pessoa.djvu/22

 XXXV.

Good. I have done. My heart weighs. I am sad. The outer day, void statue of lit blue, Is altogether outward, other, glad At mere being not-I (so my aches construe). I, that have failed in everything, bewail Nothing this hour but that I have bewailed, For in the general fate what is't to fail? Why, fate being past for Fate, 'tis but to have failed. Whatever hap or stop, what matters it, Sith to the mattering our will bringeth nought? With the higher trifling let us world our wit, Conscious that, if we do't, that was the lot The regular stars bound us to, when they stood Godfathers to our birth and to our blood.