“The only true motive for putting poetry into a fresh language [translating it] must be to endow a fresh nation, as far as possible, with one more possession of beauty. Poetry not being an exact science, literality of rendering is altogether secondary to this chief aim. I say literality—not fidelity, which is by no means the same thing. When literality can be combined with what is thus the primary condition of success, the translator is fortunate, and must strive his utmost to unite them; when such object can only be attained by paraphrase, that is his only path.
The task of the translator (and with all humility be it spoken) is one of self-denial. Often would he avail himself of any special grace of his own idiom and speech, if only his will belonged to him; often would some cadence serve him but for his author’s structure—some structure but for his author’s cadence; often the beautiful turn of a stanza must be weakened to adopt some rhyme which will tally, and he sees the poet reveling in abundance of language where himself is scantily supplied. Now he would slight the matter for the music, and now the music for the matter; but no, he must deal to each alike. Sometimes, too, a flaw in the work galls him, and he would fain remove it, doing for the poet that which his age denied him; but no,—it is not in the bond. His path is like that of Aladdin through the enchanted vaults: many are the precious fruits and flowers which he must pass by unheeded in search for the lamp alone; happy if at last, when brought to light, it does not prove that his old lamp has been exchanged for a new one,—glittering indeed to the eye, but scarcely of the same virtue nor with the same genius at its summons.”
–Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Preface to The Early Italian Poets