Territorio silvano
posted by Rhiwen @ 6/27/2005 11:45:00 p. m. 5 comments
Entre el discorde estruendo de la orgíaacarició mi oídocomo una nota de lejana música, el eco de un suspiro. El eco de un suspiro que conozco, formado de un aliento que he bebido,perfume de una flor que oculta creceen un claustro sombrío. Mi adorada de un día, cariñosa,-¿En qué piensas?me dijo:-En nada...- En nada¿y lloras?-Es que tengoalegre la tristeza y triste el vino.
No sé lo que he soñadoen la noche pasada.Triste, muy triste debió de ser el sueñopues despierto, la angustia me duraba.Noté al incorporarmehúmeda la almohaday por primera vez sentí, al notarlo,de un amargo placer henchirse el alma.Triste cosa es el sueñoque llanto nos arranca,mas tengo en mi tristeza una alegría...¡Sé que aún me quedan lágrimas!
Me conformaré con escribirte dos breves versos:"Y eres así a la espada parecida,que matas más desnuda que vestida".
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, Alone and palely loitering;The sedge is wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing.Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, So haggard and so woe-begone?The squirrel's granary is full, And the harvest's done.I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew;And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too.I met a lady in the meads Full beautiful, a faery's child;Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild.I set her on my pacing steed, And nothing else saw all day long;For sideways would she lean, and sing A faery's song.I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;She look'd at me as she did love, And made sweet moan.She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild, and manna dew;And sure in language strange she said, I love thee true.She took me to her elfin grot, And there she gaz'd and sighed deep,And there I shut her wild sad eyes-- So kiss'd to sleep.And there we slumber'd on the moss, And there I dream'd, ah woe betide,The latest dream I ever dream'd On the cold hill side.I saw pale kings, and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;Who cry'd--"La belle Dame sans merci Hath thee in thrall!"I saw their starv'd lips in the gloam With horrid warning gaped wide,And I awoke, and found me here On the cold hill side.And this is why I sojourn here Alone and palely loitering,Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing. Donde estén los Ingleses... Lothi, a la que el romanticismo la repatea, pese a ser una gran fan del Romanticismo...
Huir el rostro al claro desengañobeber veneno por licor suaveodiar el provecho amar el dañocreer que un cielo en un infierno cabedar la vida y el alma a un desengañoesto es amor, quien lo probó, lo sabe
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5 Comments:
Entre el discorde estruendo de la orgía
acarició mi oído
como una nota de lejana música,
el eco de un suspiro.
El eco de un suspiro que conozco,
formado de un aliento que he bebido,
perfume de una flor que oculta crece
en un claustro sombrío.
Mi adorada de un día, cariñosa,
-¿En qué piensas?me dijo:
-En nada...- En nada¿y lloras?-Es que tengo
alegre la tristeza y triste el vino.
No sé lo que he soñado
en la noche pasada.
Triste, muy triste debió de ser el sueño
pues despierto, la angustia me duraba.
Noté al incorporarme
húmeda la almohada
y por primera vez sentí, al notarlo,
de un amargo placer henchirse el alma.
Triste cosa es el sueño
que llanto nos arranca,
mas tengo en mi tristeza una alegría...
¡Sé que aún me quedan lágrimas!
Me conformaré con escribirte dos breves versos:
"Y eres así a la espada parecida,
que matas más desnuda que vestida".
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
Alone and palely loitering;
The sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.
I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose
Fast withereth too.
I met a lady in the meads
Full beautiful, a faery's child;
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long;
For sideways would she lean, and sing
A faery's song.
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look'd at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew;
And sure in language strange she said,
I love thee true.
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she gaz'd and sighed deep,
And there I shut her wild sad eyes--
So kiss'd to sleep.
And there we slumber'd on the moss,
And there I dream'd, ah woe betide,
The latest dream I ever dream'd
On the cold hill side.
I saw pale kings, and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
Who cry'd--"La belle Dame sans merci
Hath thee in thrall!"
I saw their starv'd lips in the gloam
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke, and found me here
On the cold hill side.
And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.
Donde estén los Ingleses...
Lothi, a la que el romanticismo la repatea, pese a ser una gran fan del Romanticismo...
Huir el rostro al claro desengaño
beber veneno por licor suave
odiar el provecho amar el daño
creer que un cielo en un infierno cabe
dar la vida y el alma a un desengaño
esto es amor, quien lo probó, lo sabe
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