From the French of Philippe Desportes
Here Icarus, that dashing airman, fell.
His home-made apparatus came undone.
From youth he aimed at nothing but the sun:
Hence these few feathers drifting on the swell
Are others drawn along his parallel?
How has he lost what any winner won?
These earth-bound seekers of oblivion
Will find what trailing plumes of pride foretell.
The fastest ways of flight left him unmoved.
Only his wings were wax: his heart had proved
Its theory, and he saw the great stars dim
Around him, as he wrote his melting name
Between their points: then to the sea he came,
And waves of glory rose to welcome him.