D.H. Lawrence

Rosas de río

 

Xunta o Isar, no lusco e fusco
andabamos a vagar e a cantar,
xunta o Isar, á tardiña
subímo-la escada dos cazadores e sentamos
abaneando no abeto que domina as marismas,
mentres o río se atopaba co río, e o tanxido
da súa pálida e verde auga de glaciar enchía a tardiña.

Xunta o Isar, no lusco e fusco
achámo-las escuras rosas silvestres
que pendían vermellas cara ó río; e ardentes
as ras cantaban, e pola beira do río
viña o sabor do xeo e mailas rosas; e trémulo
o medo marchou lonxe. E bisbamos: “Ninguén nos coñece.
Que sexa tal coma a serpe manda,
aquí, nesta marisma ardente.”

                                                                                        Kloster Schaeftlarn

 

River Roses

By the Isar, in the twilight
We were wandering and singing,
By the Isar, in the evening
We climbed the huntsman’s ladder and sat swinging
In the fir-tree overlooking the marshes,
While river met with river, and the ringing
Of their pale-green glacier water filled the evening.

By the Isar, in the twilight
We found the dark wild roses
Hanging red at the river; and simmering
Frogs were singing, and over the river closes
Was savour of ice and of roses; and glimmering
Fear was abroad. We whispered: “No one knows us.
Let it be as the snake disposes
Here in this simmering marsh.”

                                                                                        Kloster Schaeftlarn