THE QUESTION
I dreamed
that, as I wandered by the way,
Bare
Winter suddenly was changed to Spring,
And
gentle odours led my steps astray,
Mixed
with a sound of waters murmuring
Along a
shelving bank of turf, which lay
Under a
copse, and hardly dared to fling
Its green
arms round the bosom of the stream,
But
kissed it and then fled, as thou mightest in dream.
There
grew pied wind-flowers and violets,
Daisies,
those pearled Arcturi of the earth,
The
constellated flower that never sets;
Faint
oxlips; tender bluebells, at whose birth
The sod
scarce heaved; and that tall flower that wets—
Like a
child, half in tenderness and mirth—
Its
mother's face with Heaven's collected tears,
When the
low wind, its playmate's voice, it hears.
And in
the warm hedge grew lush eglantine,
Green
cowbind and the moonlight-coloured may,
And
cherry-blossoms, and white cups, whose wine
Was the
bright dew, yet drained not by the day;
And wild
roses, and ivy serpentine,
With its
dark buds and leaves, wandering astray;
And
flowers azure, black, and streaked with gold,
Fairer
than any wakened eyes behold.
And
nearer to the river's trembling edge
There
grew broad flag-flowers, purple pranked with white,
And
starry river buds among the sedge,
And
floating water-lilies, broad and bright,
Which lit
the oak that overhung the hedge
With
moonlight beams of their own watery light;
And
bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green
As
soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen.
Methought
that of these visionary flowers
I made a
nosegay, bound in such a way
That the
same hues, which in their natural bowers
Were
mingled or opposed, the like array
Kept
these imprisoned children of the Hours
Within my
hand,—and then, elate and gay,
I
hastened to the spot whence I had come,
That I
might there present it!—Oh! to whom?
LA PREGUNTA
Soñé que
al caminar, extraviado,
se
trocaba el invierno en primavera,
y el alma
me llevó su olor mezclado
con el
claro sonar de la ribera.
En su
borde de césped sombreado
vi una
zarza que osaba, prisionera,
la otra
orilla alcanzar con una rama,
como
suele en sus sueños el que ama.
Allí la
leve anémona y violeta
brotaban,
y estelares margaritas
constelando
la hierba nunca quieta;
campánulas
azules; velloritas
que
apenas rompen su mansión secreta
al
crecer; y narciso de infinitas
gotas
desfallecido, que del viento
la música
acompasa y movimiento.
Y en la
tibia ribera la eglantina,
la
madreselva verde y la lunada;
los
cerezos en flor; la copa fina
del
lirio, hasta los bordes derramada;
las
rosas; y la hiedra que camina
entre sus
propias ramas enlazada;
y azules
o sombrías, áureas, rosas,
flores
que nadie corta tan hermosas.
Mas cerca
de la orilla que temblaba
la
espadaña su nieve enrojecía,
y entre
líquida juncia se doblaba.
El
lánguido nenúfar parecía
como un
rayo de luna que pasaba
entre los
robles verdes, y moría
junto a
esas cañas de verdor tan fino,
que el
alma pulsan con rumor divino.
Pensé que
de estas flores visionarias
cortaba un
verde ramo, entretejido
con sus
juntas bellezas y contrarias,
para
guardar las horas que he vivido,
las horas
y las flores solitarias,
en mi
mano infantil, igual que un nido.
Me
apresuré a volver. Mis labios: « ¡Ten
estas
flores! », dijeron. Pero ¿a quién?
Traducción
de LEOPOLDO MARÍA PANERO
