Eden

Translated by J.M. Coetzee
Somewhere in Eden, after all this time,   
does there still stand, abandoned, like   
a ruined city, gates sealed with grisly nails,   
the luckless garden?

Is sultry day still followed there   
by sultry dusk, sultry night,   
where on the branches sallow and purple   
the fruit hangs rotting?

Is there still, underground,   
spreading like lace among the rocks   
a network of unexploited lodes,   
onyx and gold?

Through the lush greenery   
their wash echoing afar   
do there still flow the four glassy streams   
of which no mortal drinks?

Somewhere in Eden, after all this time,   
does there still stand, like a city in ruins,   
forsaken, doomed to slow decay,   
the failed garden?