T.S. Elliot (1888–1965) - The Journey of the Magi (1927) "A cold coming we had of it, Just the worst time of the year For a journey, and such a long journey: The ways deep and the weather sharp, The very dead of winter." And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory, Lying down in the melting snow. There were times we regretted The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces, And the silken girls bringing sherbet. Then the camel men cursing and grumbling And running away, and wanting their liquor and women, And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters, And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly And the villages dirty and charging high prices: A hard time we had of it. At the end we preferred to travel all night, Sleeping in snatches, With the voices singing in our ears, saying That this was all folly. Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley, Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation; With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness, And three trees on the low sky, And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow. Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel, Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver, And feet kicking the empty wine-skins. But there was no information, and so we continued And arriving at evening, not a moment too soon Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory. All this was a long time ago, I remember, And I would do it again, but set down This set down This: were we led all that way for Birth or Death? There was a birth, certainly, We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death, But had thought they were different; this Birth was Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death. We returned to our places, these Kingdoms, But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation, With an alien people clutching their gods. I should be glad of another death. .

T.S. Elliot (1888–1965) - Τὸ Ταξίδι τῶν Μάγων (1927) «Κρύο ἐρχομό εἴχαμε, ἡ χειρότερη ἐποχὴ τοῦ χρόνου γιὰ ταξίδι καὶ τόσο μακρὺ ταξίδι. Οἱ δρόμοι ἀδιάβατοι, ὁ καιρὸς ἀψὺς στὴν καρδιὰ τοῦ χειμῶνα. Καὶ οἱ καμῆλες ταλαίπωρες, κουτσές, δύστροπες, ἔπεφταν κάτω στὸ λιωμένο χιόνι. Ἦταν φορὲς ποὺ νοσταλγήσαμε τὰ καλοκαιρινὰ παλάτια στὶς πλαγιές, τὰ περιβόλια, τὰ μεταξένια κορίτσια ποὺ μᾶς ἔφερναν δροσιστικά. Κι οἱ ἀγωγιάτες ἔβριζαν, γκρίνιαζαν καὶ φεύγανε κρυφὰ γιὰ κρασὶ καὶ γυναῖκες, καὶ οἱ φωτιὲς σβηστές, κι οὔτε μιὰ σκέπη, οἱ πόλεις ἐχθρικὲς καὶ τὰ χωριὰ ἀφιλόξενα, τὰ σπίτια βρόμικα, μᾶς ἔκλεβαν στὸ νοίκι. Σκληρὸ ταξίδι κάναμε. Στὸ τέλος, προτιμοῦσαμε νὰ ταξιδεύουμε νύχτα καὶ νὰ κοιμόμαστε κλεφτά, καὶ οἱ φωνὲς στ’ αὐτιά μας τραγουδοῦσαν κι ἔλεγαν πὼς ὅλα αὐτὰ ἦταν τρέλλες. Τὸ ξημέρωμα, φτάσαμε σὲ μιὰν ἥμερη πεδιάδα, χλωρή, βρεγμένη, παρακάτω ἀπὸ τὰ χιόνια, μ’ ἕνα ρυάκι ποὺ ’τρεχε καὶ ἕναν νερόμυλο ποὺ χτυποῦσε στὸ σκοτάδι, καὶ τρία δέντρα στὸ χαμηλωμένο οὐρανό. Κι ἕνα ἄσπρο ἄλογο ποὺ κάλπαζε μὲς στὸ λιβάδι. Ὕστερα φτάσαμε σὲ μιὰ ταβέρνα ποὺ τὴν ἴσκιωνε κληματαριά. Ἕξι χέρια στὴν ἀνοιχτὴ πόρτα παίζανε γιὰ ἀσήμι καὶ πόδια ποὺ κλοτσοῦσαν τ’ ἄδεια ἀσκιά. Μὰ κανένας δὲν ἤξερε τίποτα. Ἔτσι τραβήξαμε καὶ φτάσαμε νύχτα, τὴν τελευταία ὥρα βρήκαμε τὸν τόπο καὶ ἦταν (θὰ ’λεγε κανείς) ἐπιτυχία. Αὐτὰ εἶναι ὅλα παλιὲς ἱστορίες, παλιὲς ἀναμνήσεις, καὶ θὰ πήγαινα ξανά, μὰ ἕνα δὲν ξέρω (ἕνα δὲν ξέρω). Κάναμε τόσο δρόμο γιὰ Γέννα ἢ Θάνατο; Ὑπῆρξε μιὰ Γέννα, αὐτὸ εἶναι σίγουρο. Ἄλλωστε ἤξερα νὰ ξεχωρίζω, μὰ πίστευα πὼς ἦταν ἄλλο πράγμα. Τούτη ἡ Γέννηση ἦταν σκληρή, πικρὴ ἀγωνία σὰν Θάνατος, σὰν τὸν δικό μας θάνατο. Γυρίσαμε στὰ παλάτια μας, σὲ τοῦτα τὰ Βασίλεια, μὰ ὄχι πιὰ βολεμένοι στὰ παλιὰ προνόμια, μ’ ἕναν ξένο λαὸ γραπωμένο στὰ εἴδωλά του. Θὰ προτιμοῦσα ἄλλο ἕνα τέτοιο θάνατο. Ἑλληνικὴ μετάφραση: Λίνα Κάσδαγλη – Δάφνη Οἰκονόμου