¡Rosa roja, orgullosa Rosa, triste Rosa de todos mis días!
Acércate, mientras canto las antiguas melodías;
con la amarga marea Cuchulain luchando;
el Druida, gris, de madera alimentado, ojos calmos,
quien a su alrededor lanza los sueños de Fergus, y ocultos quebrantos
y tu propia tristeza, donde quiera que comience, se hizo vieja
bailando con plateadas sandalias sobre el mar,
canta su elevada melodía.
Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days!
Come near me, while I sing the ancient ways;
Cuchulain battling with the bitter tide;
The Druid, grey, wood-nurtured, quiet-eyed,
Who cast round Fergus dreams, and ruin untold;
And thine own sadness, whereof stars, grown old
in dancing silver sandalled on the sea,
Sing in their high and lonely melody.
Come near me, while I sing the ancient ways;
Cuchulain battling with the bitter tide;
The Druid, grey, wood-nurtured, quiet-eyed,
Who cast round Fergus dreams, and ruin untold;
And thine own sadness, whereof stars, grown old
in dancing silver sandalled on the sea,
Sing in their high and lonely melody.
Acércate, no te ciegues más por el destino del hombre,
yo encuentro bajo las ramas del amor y el odio,
en todas las pobres y tontas cosas que un día viven,
eterna belleza vagando en su errante vía.
Come near, that no more blinded by man´s fate.
I find under the boughs of love and hate,
In all poor foolish things that live a day,
Eternal beauty wandering on her way.
I find under the boughs of love and hate,
In all poor foolish things that live a day,
Eternal beauty wandering on her way.
Acércate, acércate, acércate. –¡Ah, déjame un momento
todavía para que la rosa ensanche su aliento!
por miedo de que nunca más escuche las simples cosas que anhelo;
el débil gusano escondido en su pequeña cueva,
el ratón de campo corriendo a mi lado en la hierba,
y las pesadas esperanzas mortales que se esfuerzan y pasan;
pero solitario busca el poder oir todo lo extraño dicho
por Dios a los brillantes corazones largo tiempo muerto,
y aprende a cantar una lengua que los hombres desconocen.
Acércate; yo cantaría, antes de que llegue mi tiempo,
a la anciana Eire y las antiguas melodías:
Rosa Roja, orgullosa Rosa, triste Rosa de todos mis días.
Come near, come near, come near. –Ah, leave me still
A little space for the rosa-breath to fill!
Lest I no more hear common things that crave;
That weak worm hiding down in its small cave;
The field mouse running by me in the grass,
And heavy mortal hopes that toil and pass;
But seek alone to hear the strange things said
By God to the bright hearts of those long dead,
And learn to chaunt a tongue men de not know.
Come near; I would, before my time to go,
Sing of old Eire and the ancient ways:
Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days.
William Butler Yeats.
A little space for the rosa-breath to fill!
Lest I no more hear common things that crave;
That weak worm hiding down in its small cave;
The field mouse running by me in the grass,
And heavy mortal hopes that toil and pass;
But seek alone to hear the strange things said
By God to the bright hearts of those long dead,
And learn to chaunt a tongue men de not know.
Come near; I would, before my time to go,
Sing of old Eire and the ancient ways:
Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days.
William Butler Yeats.
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