(He is still my favourite! The Edge of love is a great movie!)

In My Craft Or Sullen Art

In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms,
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart.

Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art.,

Hungarian Translation

Mesterségem

Tombol a hold, viaskodom, de nem a gőgösöké,
amit éjszaka csapzott lapokra írok,
sem pedig a halottaké, kiket
madárraj és zsolozsma rejt el;

csak a szeretőké, kik hunyt szemekkel
minden korok bánatát ölelik
akiknek fizettségre nem telik
nem is látnak
övék művésztetem.