A Jesucristo
Qué tengo yo que mi amistad procuras?
¿Qué interés se te sigue, Jesús mío,
Que a mis puertas, cubierto de rocío,
Pasas las noches del invierno oscuras?
¡Oh, cuánto fueron mis entrañas duras,
pues que no te abrí! ¿Qué loco desvarío,
pues de mi ingratitud el hielo frío
pasmó las llagas de tus plantas puras!
¿Cuántas veces mi ángel me decía:
¡Alma, asómate ahora a la ventana;
verás con cúanto amor llamar porfía!
Y cuántas, Hermosura Soberana
-¡mañana le abriremos!-, respondía,
para lo mismo responder mañana!
(Lope de Vega )
A Cristo Crucificado
No me mueve, mi Dios, para quererte
el cielo que me tienes prometido,
ni me mueve el infierno tan temido
para dejar por ello de ofenderte.
Tú me mueves, Señor, muéveme el ver te
clavado en una cruz y escarnecido,
muéveme ver tu cuerpo tan herido
muéveme tus afrentas y tu muerte.
Muéveme en fin tu amor, y en tal manera
que aunque no hubiera cielo yo te amara
y aunque no hubiera infierno te temiera.
No me tienes que dar porque te quiera,
pues aunque lo que espeo no esperara
lo mismo que te quiero te quisiera.
(Alfonso Reyes lo atribuye a Fray Antonio de Guevara).
Cerrar podrá mis ojos la postrera
sombra que me llevare el blanco día,
y podrá desatar esta alma mía
hora a su afán ansioso lisonjera;
Mas no de esotra parte, en la ribera,
dejará la memoria en donde ardía:
nadar sabe mi llama la agua fría,
y perder el respeto a ley severa.
Alma a quien todo un dios prisión ha sido,
venas que humor a tanto fuego han dado,
médulas que han gloriosamente ardido,
Su cuerpo dejará, no su cuidado;
serán ceniza, mas tendrá sentido;
polvo serán. mas polvo enamorado.
(Francisco de Quevedo, 1580-1645)
Ojos claros, serenos,
Clear eyes serene
Si de un dulce mirar sois alabados,
If for your gentle looks thou are so praised
¿por qué, si me miráis, miráis airados?
Why does on me in anger are you raised?
Si cuanto más piadosos
If beauty mirrored there to him who sees
Más bellos parecéis a aquel que os mira,
More lovely is your glance
No me miréis con ira
Look not on me askance
Porque no parezcáis menos hermosos.
That so you may not seem to be less fair.
¡Ay, tormentos rabiosos!
Oh!, torment of despair!
Ojos claros, serenos,
Clear eyes, serene,
Ya que así me miráis, miradme al menos.
Rather look thus on me than leave unseen.
Down by the Sally Gardens
Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet;
She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet
She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree;
But I being young and foolish, with her would not agree.
In a field by the river my love and I did stand,
And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand.
She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs;
But I was young and foolish , and now am full of tears.
(William Butler Yeats, 1889)
IF
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too.
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating.
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise.
If you can dream -and not make dreams your master
If you can think -and not make thoughts your aim
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken.
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools.
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss.
And lose, and start -again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss.
If you can force your heart and nerves and sinews
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the will which says to them: "Hold on".
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings -nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the nonforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run.
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And -what is more- you'll be a man, my son.
(Rudyard Kipling)
(1865-1936)
XXVI
Keepsake Mill
Over the borders, a sin without pardon,
Breaking the branches and crawling below,
Out through the breach in the wall of the garden,
Down by the banks of the river we go.
Here is a mill with the humming of thunder,
Here is the weir with the wonder of foam,
Here is the sluice with the race running under--
Marvellous places, though handy to home!
Sounds of the village grow stiller and stiller,
Stiller the note of the birds on the hill;
Dusty and dim are the eyes of the miller,
Deaf are his ears with the moil of the mill.
Years may go by, and the wheel in the river
Wheel as it wheels for us, children, to-day,
Wheel and keep roaring and foaming for ever
Long after all of the boys are away.
Home for the Indies and home from the ocean,
Heroes and soldiers we all will come home;
Still we shall find the old mill wheel in motion,
Turning and churning that river to foam.
You with the bean that I gave when we quarrelled,
I with your marble of Saturday last,
Honoured and old and all gaily apparelled,
Here we shall meet and remember the past.
(Robert Louis Stevenson, "A Child Garden of Verses")
Mater Triumphans
Son of my woman's body, you go, to the drum and fife,
To taste the colour of love and the other side of life-
From out of the dainty the rude, the strong from out of the frail,
Eternally through the ages from the female comes the male.
The ten fingers and toes, and the shell-like nail on each,
The eyes blind as gems and the tongue attempting speech;
Impotent hands in my bosom, and yet they shall wield the sword!
Drugged with slumber and milk, you wait the day of the Lord.
Infant bridegroom, uncrowned king, unanointed priest,
Soldier, lover, explorer, I see you nuzzle the breast.
You that grope in my bosom shall load the ladies with rings,
You, that came forth through the doors, shall burst the doors of kings.
(Robert Louis Stevenson)
(1850-1894)
XVIII
My Shadow
I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.
He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;
And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.
The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow--
Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;
For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball,
And he sometimes goes so little that there's none of him at all.
He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play,
And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.
He stays so close behind me, he's a coward you can see;
I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!
One morning, very early, before the sun was up,
I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;
But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,
Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.
(Robert Louis Stevenson, "A Child Garden of Verses")
Sonnet to Sleep
O soft embalmer of the still midnight,
Shutting with careful fingers and benign
Our gloom-pleas’d eyes, embower’d from the light,
Enshaded in forgetfulness divine:
O soothest Sleep! If so it please thee, close,
In midst of this thine hymn, my willing eyes,
Or wait the Amen ere thy poppy throws
Around my bed its lulling charities.
Then save me or the passed day will shine
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes:
Save me from curious conscience, that stiill hoards
Its strength for darkness, burowing like the mole;
Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,
And seal the hushed casket of my soul.
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of caly and watles made;
Nine bean-rows willI have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a pruple glow,
and evening fulll of the linnet's wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.
(Wiliam Butler Yeats, 1890)
THE VAGABOND (To an air of Schubert)
GIVE to me the life I love,
Let the lave go by me,
Give the jolly heaven above
And the byway nigh me.
Bed in the bush with stars to see,
Bread I dip in the river -
There's the life for a man like me,
There's the life for ever.
Let the blow fall soon or late,
Let what will be o'er me;
Give the face of earth around
And the road before me.
Wealth I seek not, hope nor love,
Nor a friend to know me;
All I seek, the heaven above
And the road below me.
Or let autumn fall on me
Where afield I linger,
Silencing the bird on tree,
Biting the blue finger.
White as meal the frosty field -
Warm the fireside haven -
Not to autumn will I yield,
Not to winter even!
Let the blow fall soon or late,
Let what will be o'er me;
Give the face of earth around,
And the road before me.
Wealth I ask not, hope nor love,
Nor a friend to know me;
All I ask, the heaven above
And the road below me.
(R.L.S., "Songs of Travel)
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