Poemas favoritos VIII
Favorite poems VIII
Ode - Ficções do Interlúdio
Quero dos deuses só que não me lembrem.
Serei livre - sem dita nem desdita,
Como o vento que é a vida
Do ar que não é nada.
O ódio e o amor iguais nos buscam; ambos,
Cada um com seu modo, nos oprimem.
A quem deuses concedem
Nada, tem liberdade.
W. H. Auden, 1932, ?1934
The young men in Pressan to-night
Toss on their beds
Their pillows do not comfort
Their uneasy heads.
The lot that decides their fate
I cast to-morrow,
One must depart and face
Danger and sorrow.
Is it me? Is it me? Is it... me?
Look in your heart and see:
There lies the answer.
Though the heart like a clever
Conjuror or dancer
Deceive you often into many
A curious sleight
And motives like stowaways
Are found too late.
What shall he do, whose heart
Chooses to depart?
But do not imagine we do not know
Nor that what you hide with such care won't show
At a glance.
Nothing is done, nothing is said,
But don't make the mistake of believing us dead:
I shouldn't dance.
We're afraid in that case you'll have a fall.
We've been watching you over the garden wall
The sky is darkening like a stain,
Something is going to fall like rain
And it won't be flowers.
This might happen any day
So be careful what you say
Be clean, be tidy, oil the lock,
Trim the garden, wind the clock,
Remember the Two.