Am meisten gelesen ▸
Percy Bysshe Shelley
'Buona notte, buona notte!'--Come mai
La notte sara buona senza te?
Non dirmi buona notte,--che tu sai,
La notte sa star buona da per se.
Solinga, scura, cupa, senza speme,
La notte quando Lilla m'abbandona;
Pei cuori chi si batton insieme
Ogni notte, senza dirla, sara buona.
Come male buona notte ci suona
Con sospiri e parole interrotte!--
Il modo di aver la notte buona
E mai non di dir la buona notte.
Lest this be Heaven indeed
An Obstacle is given
That always gauges a Degree
Between Ourself and Heaven.
While in a train from north to south,
Past the paddy, the groves, the lagoons,
Past where pearls glitter in sun,
Someone I love passed me by.
In a train from south to north,
Past the streams, the ponds, the lakes
On the tracks west to where I sat,
In that train fleeing past,
My son, my uttermost love, passed me by.
In that train that flew past me,
In the blur of faces that swept past me,
One was my son, my uttermost love.
I, in a train running north to south,
My heart in a train running south to north.
that was
awful
no more
attachment
WE HAVE LOST THE LAND
OR
HAVE BECOME SEPARATED
FROM OURSELVES
AS GRASS PULLED FROM
ITS SHAFT
WE STAND WITH NO MEANING
IN SPACES
THE OPENED GROUND IS AS
STRANGE AS THE OPENINGS
BETWEEN OUR FINGERS.
Round the circle of her garden she walks, and stops
again, taking in, as one absent from her own
senses yet unwilling to forgo their gifts,
the half-dimmed light of a low, prepubescent
moon, its influence on lingering clouds,
some few stars brave enough to compete with
mercury vapor or halogen or tungsten,
and taking in also the pungent garlic border,
its enclosure of bean vines, celery, snap peas:
celebratory things, even in this half-light,
this dew of forgotten hours. Her feet,
though well shod, warn her of night, by noting
slow seep of dew round toes and heels.
Her hand, brushing wet night-blooming
jasmine, shrinks from chill. These, and trees
she has encouraged -- apple, plum, pear, cherry,
Moonrise, and I
am here.
And where you are —
moonrise.
How I hated that bus
as it rolled me
serenely away
from you.
Once we had made up
our minds that you
should leave at morning —
we each in our way
prayed dawn should never
come.
Between us,
some three hundred
miles of ice? —
It's not so much.
We plant fir
seedlings across
icy slopes.
Trees yet standing
scrape and worry
in moaning winds,
showering us with
bark and cones.
Will I see you
again, should one
of these fall
while my back
is bent?
Alack for life!
Worn to a stalk since yesterday
Is the flower with whom the bee did stay,
And he was but one night away.
Alack for life, I say.
Alack for life!
A flower put on her fine array,
In hopes a bee would come her way,
Who's dying in his hive this day.
Alack for life, I say.
Alack for life!
If Death like Love would throw his dart
And pierce at once a double heart.
And not to strike away one part —
Alack for life, who'd say?