translated by Thomas Walsh

The ancient spiders with a flutter spread
   Their misty marvels through the withered flowers,
The windows, by the moonlight pierced, would shed
   Their trembling garlands pale across the bowers.

The balconies looked over to the South;
   The night was one immortal and serene;
From fields afar the newborn springtime’s mouth
   Wafted a breath of sweetness o’er the scene.

How silent! Grief had hushed its spectral moan
   Among the shadowy roses of the sward;
Love was a fable—shadows overthrown
   Trooped back in myriads from oblivion’s ward.

The garden’s voice was all—empires had died—
   The azure stars in languor having known
The sorrows all the centuries provide,
   With silver crowned me there, remote and lone.

 


 

La soledad sonora, XI 

 

Las antiguas arañas melodiosas, temblaban
maravillosamente sobre las mustias flores…
sus cristales, heridos por la luna, soñaban
guirnaldas temblorosas de pálidos colores…

   Estaban los balcones abiertos al sur… Era
una noche inmortal, serena y transparente…
de los campos lejanos, la nueva primavera
mandaba, con la brisa, su aliento, dulcemente…

   ¡Qué silencio! Las penas ahogaban su ruído
de espectros en las rosas vagas de las alfombras…
el amor no existía… tornaba del olvido
una ronda infinita de trastornadas sombras…

   Todo lo era el jardín… Morían las ciudades…
Las estrellas azules, con la vana indolencia
de haber visto los duelos de todas las edades,
coronaban de plata mi nostalgia y mi ausencia…

Related Poems

Harvest Moon

The dark magnolia leaves and spreading fig
With green luxuriant beauty all their own, 
Stirless, hang heavy-coated with the dew,
Which swift and iridescent gleams shoot through
As if a thousand brilliant diamonds shone.
Afloat the lagoon, water-lilies white
In sweets with muscadines perfume the night.
A song bird restless chants a fleeting lay; 
Asleep on all the swamp and bayou lies
A peaceful, blissful moonlight, mystic haze,
A dreaminess o'er all the landscape plays, 
While lake and lagoon mirror all the skies.
There is a glory doomed to pass too soon,
That lies subdued beneath the harvest moon. 
 

At Night

At night the Universe grows lean, sober-
faced, of intoxication,
The shadow of the half-sphere curtains
down closely against my world, like a 
doorless cage, and the stillness chained by
wrinkled darkness strains throughout the Uni-
verse to be free. 
Listen, frogs in the pond, (the world is a pond itself)
     cry out for the light, for the truth!
The curtains rattle ghostlily along, bloodily biting
     my soul, the winds knocking on my cabin door
     with their shadowy hands.