Written by
Delmira Agustini |
Spanish Su idilio fue una larga sonrisa a cuatro labios…En el regazo cálido de rubia primaveraAmáronse talmente que entre sus dedos sabiosPalpitó la divina forma de la Quimera. En los palacios fúlgidos de las tardes en calmaHablábanse un lenguaje sentido como un lloro,Y se besaban hondo hasta morderse el alma!…Las horas deshojáronse como flores de oro, Y el Destino interpuso sus dos manos heladas…Ah! los cuerpos cedieron, mas las almas trenzadasSon el más intrincado nudo que nunca fue…En lucha con sus locos enredos sobrehumanosLas Furias de la vida se rompieron las manosY fatigó sus dedos supremos Ananké… English Their idyll was a smile of four lips…In the warm lap of blond springThey loved such that between their wise fingersthe divine form of Chimera trembled. In the glimmering palaces of quiet afternoonsThey spoke in a language heartfelt as weeping,And they kissed each other deeply, biting the soul!The hours fluttered away like petals of gold, Then Fate interposed its two icy hands…Ah! the bodies yielded, but tangled soulsAre the most intricate knot that never unfolds…In strife with its mad superhuman entanglements,Life’s Furies rent their coupled handsAnd wearied your powerful fingers, Ananké… Ananké: Goddess (Greek) of Unalterable Necessity
|
Written by
Delmira Agustini |
SpanishFuera, la noche en veste de tragedia sollozaComo una enorme viuda pegada a mis cristales. Mi cuarto:…Por un bello milagro de la luz y del fuegoMi cuarto es una gruta de oro y gemas raras:Tiene un musgo tan suave, tan hondo de tapices,Y es tan vívida y cálida, tan dulce que me creoDentro de un corazón… Mi lecho que está en blanco es blanco y vaporosoComo flor de inocencia,Como espuma de vicio! Esta noche hace insomnio;Hay noches negras, negras, que llevan en la frenteUna rosa de sol…En estas noches negras y claras no se duerme. Y yo te amo, Invierno!Yo te imagino viejo,Yo te imagino sabio,Con un divino cuerpo de marmól palpitanteQue arrastra como un manto regio el peso del Tiempo…Invierno, yo te amo y soy la primavera…Yo sonroso, tú nievas:Tú porque todo sabes,Yo porque todo sueño… …Amémonos por eso!… Sobre mi lecho en blanco,Tan blanco y vaporoso como flor de inocencia,Como espuma de vicio,Invierno, Invierno, Invierno,Caigamos en un ramo de rosas y de lirios! English Outside the night, dressed in tragedy, sighsLike an enormous widow fastened to my windowpane. My room…By a wondrous miracle of light and fireMy room is a grotto of gold and precious gems:With a moss so smooth, so deep its tapestries,And it is vivid and hot, so sweet I believeI am inside a heart… My bed there in white, is white and vaporousLike a flower of innocence.Like the froth of vice! This night brings insomnia;There are black nights, black, which bring forthOne rose of sun…On these black and clear nights I do not sleep. And I love you, Winter!I imagine you are old,I imagine you are wise,With a divine body of beating marbleWhich drags the weight of Time like a regal cloak…Winter, I love you and I am the spring…I blush, you snow:Because you know it all,Because I dream it all… We love each other like this!… On my bed all in white,So white and vaporous like the flower of innocence,Like the froth of vice,Winter, Winter, Winter,We fall in a cluster of roses and lilies!
|
Written by
Delmira Agustini |
Spanish Yo hacía una divina labor, sobre la rocaCreciente del Orgullo. De la vida lejana,Algún pétalo vívido me voló en la mañana,Algún beso en la noche. Tenaz como una loca,Sequía mi divina labor sobre la roca. Cuando tu voz que funde como sacra campanaEn la nota celeste la vibración humana,Tendió su lazo do oro al borde de tu boca; —Maravilloso nido del vértigo, tu boca!Dos pétalos de rosa abrochando un abismo…—Labor, labor de gloria, dolorosa y liviana;¡Tela donde mi espíritu su fue tramando él mismo!Tú quedas en la testa soberbia de la roca,Y yo caigo, sin fin, en el sangriento abismo! EnglishI was at my divine labor, upon the rockSwelling with Pride. From a distance,At dawn, some bright petal came to me,Some kiss in the night. Upon the rock,Tenacious a madwoman, I clung to my work.When your voice, like a sacred bell,A celestial note with a human tremor,Stretched its golden lasso from the edge of your mouth;—Marvelous nest of vertigo, your mouth!Two rose petals fastened to an abyss…—Labor, labor of glory, painful and frivolous;Fabric where my spirit went weaving herself!You come to the arrogant head of the rock,And I fall, without end, into the bloody abyss!
|
Written by
Delmira Agustini |
SpanishEl ancla de oro canta…la vela azul asciendeComo el ala de un sueño abierta al nuevo día. Partamos, musa mía!Ante lo prora alegre un bello mar se extiende.En el oriente claro como un cristal, esplendeEl fanal sonrosado de Aurora. FantasíaEstrena un raro traje lleno de pedreríapara vagar brillante por las olas. Ya tiendeLa vela azul a Eolo su oriflama de raso…El momento supremo!…Yo me estremezco; acasoSueño lo que me aguarda en los mundos no vistos!…Acaso un fresco ramo de laureles fragantes,El toison reluciente, el cetro de diamantes,El naufragio o la eterna corona de los Cristos?… EnglishThe golden anchor beckons, the blue sail risesLike the wing of a dream unfolding to a new day. Let us depart, my muse!Beyond an anxious prow, the sea stretches itself out.In the crystal clear East, Aurora'sBlushed beacon shines. FantasyIs donning a rare garment of gemsTo wander brilliantly over the waves. The blue sailUnfolds its private oriflamme to Aeolus…The supreme moment!…I tremble: do I know–Oh God!–what awaits me in unseen worlds?Perhaps a freshly picked bouquet of fragrant laurels,The golden fleece, a diamond scepter,A shipwreck, or the eternal crown of the Anointed Ones?…
|
Written by
Federico García Lorca |
En la redonda
encrucijada,
seis doncellas
bailan.
Tres de carne
y tres de plata.
Los sue?os de ayer las buscan
pero las tiene abrazadas
un Polifemo de oro.
?La guitarra!
|
Written by
Federico García Lorca |
Sobre el cielo
de las margaritas ando.
Yo imagino esta tarde
que soy santo.
Me pusieron la luna
en las manos.
Yo la puse otra vez
en los espacios
y el Se?or me premi?
con la rosa y el halo.
Sobre el cielo
de las margaritas ando.
Y ahora voy
por este campo
a librar a las ni?as
de galanes malos
y dar monedas de oro
a todos los muchachos.
Sobre el cielo
de las margaritas ando.
|
Written by
Francesco Petrarch |
SONNET LXIX. Erano i capei d' oro all' aura sparsi. HE PAINTS THE BEAUTIES OF LAURA, PROTESTING HIS UNALTERABLE LOVE. Loose to the breeze her golden tresses flow'dWildly in thousand mazy ringlets blown,And from her eyes unconquer'd glances shone,Those glances now so sparingly bestow'd.And true or false, meseem'd some signs she show'dAs o'er her cheek soft pity's hue was thrown;I, whose whole breast with love's soft food was sown,What wonder if at once my bosom glow'd?Graceful she moved, with more than mortal mien,In form an angel: and her accents wonUpon the ear with more than human sound.A spirit heavenly pure, a living sun,[Pg 89]Was what I saw; and if no more 'twere seen,T' unbend the bow will never heal the wound. Anon., Ox., 1795. Her golden tresses on the wind she threw,Which twisted them in many a beauteous braid;In her fine eyes the burning glances play'd,With lovely light, which now they seldom show:Ah! then it seem'd her face wore pity's hue,Yet haply fancy my fond sense betray'd;Nor strange that I, in whose warm heart was laidLove's fuel, suddenly enkindled grew!Not like a mortal's did her step appear,Angelic was her form; her voice, methought,Pour'd more than human accents on the ear.A living sun was what my vision caught,A spirit pure; and though not such still found,Unbending of the bow ne'er heals the wound. Nott. Her golden tresses to the gale were streaming,That in a thousand knots did them entwine,And the sweet rays which now so rarely shineFrom her enchanting eyes, were brightly beaming,And—was it fancy?—o'er that dear face gleamingMethought I saw Compassion's tint divine;What marvel that this ardent heart of mineBlazed swiftly forth, impatient of Love's dreaming?There was nought mortal in her stately treadBut grace angelic, and her speech awokeThan human voices a far loftier sound,A spirit of heaven,—a living sun she brokeUpon my sight;—what if these charms be fled?—The slackening of the bow heals not the wound. Wrottesley.
|
Written by
William Butler Yeats |
I
My Paistin Finn is my sole desire,
And I am shrunken to skin and bone,
For all my heart has had for its hire
Is what I can whistle alone and alone.
Oro, oro!
Tomorrow night I will break down the door.
What is the good of a man and he
Alone and alone, with a speckled shin?
I would that I drank with my love on my knee
Between two barrels at the inn.
Oro, oro!
To-morrow night I will break down the door.
Alone and alone nine nights I lay
Between two bushes under the rain;
I thought to have whistled her down that
I whistled and whistled and whistled in vain.
Oro, oro!
To-morrow night I will break down the door.
From The Pot of Broth
Tune: Paistin Finn
II
I would that I were an old beggar
Rolling a blind pearl eye,
For he cannot see my lady
Go gallivanting by;
A dreary, dreepy beggar
Without a friend on the earth
But a thieving rascally cur -
O a beggar blind from his birth;
Or anything else but a rhymer
Without a thing in his head
But rhymes for a beautiful lady,
He rhyming alone in his bed.
From The Player Queen
|
Written by
Francesco Petrarch |
SONNET XXXVIII. L' oro e le perle, e i fior vermigli e i bianchi. HE INVEIGHS AGAINST LAURA'S MIRROR, BECAUSE IT MAKES HER FORGET HIM. Those golden tresses, teeth of pearly white,Those cheeks' fair roses blooming to decay,Do in their beauty to my soul conveyThe poison'd arrows from my aching sight.Thus sad and briefly must my days take flight,For life with woe not long on earth will stay;But more I blame that mirror's flattering sway,Which thou hast wearied with thy self-delight.Its power my bosom's sovereign too hath still'd,Who pray'd thee in my suit—now he is mute,Since thou art captured by thyself alone:Death's seeds it hath within my heart instill'd,For Lethe's stream its form doth constitute,And makes thee lose each image but thine own. Wollaston. The gold and pearls, the lily and the roseWhich weak and dry in winter wont to be,Are rank and poisonous arrow-shafts to me,As my sore-stricken bosom aptly shows:Thus all my days now sadly shortly close,For seldom with great grief long years agree;But in that fatal glass most blame I see,That weary with your oft self-liking grows.[Pg 48]It on my lord placed silence, when my suitHe would have urged, but, seeing your desireEnd in yourself alone, he soon was mute.'Twas fashion'd in hell's wave and o'er its fire,And tinted in eternal Lethe: thenceThe spring and secret of my death commence. Macgregor.
|
Written by
Francesco Petrarch |
[Pg 198] SONNET CLXXXIV. Onde tolse Amor l' oro e di qual vena. THE CHARMS OF HER COUNTENANCE AND VOICE. Whence could Love take the gold, and from what vein,To form those bright twin locks? What thorn could growThose roses? And what mead that white bestowOf the fresh dews, which pulse and breath obtain?Whence came those pearls that modestly restrainAccents which courteous, sweet, and rare can flow?And whence those charms that so divinely show,Spread o'er a face serene as heaven's blue plain?Taught by what angel, or what tuneful sphere,Was that celestial song, which doth dispenseSuch potent magic to the ravish'd ear?What sun illumed those bright commanding eyes,Which now look peaceful, now in hostile guise;Now torture me with hope, and now with fear? Nott. Say, from what vein did Love procure the goldTo make those sunny tresses? From what thornStole he the rose, and whence the dew of morn,Bidding them breathe and live in Beauty's mould?What depth of ocean gave the pearls that toldThose gentle accents sweet, though rarely born?Whence came so many graces to adornThat brow more fair than summer skies unfold?Oh! say what angels lead, what spheres controlThe song divine which wastes my life away?(Who can with trifles now my senses move?)What sun gave birth unto the lofty soulOf those enchanting eyes, whose glances strayTo burn and freeze my heart—the sport of Love? Wrottesley.
|