On a faded violet
Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)
The odour from the flower is gone
Which like thy kisses breathed on me;
The colour from the flower is flown
Which glowed of thee and only thee!
A shrivelled, lifeless, vacant form,
It lies on my abandoned breast;
And mocks the heart, which yet is warm
With cold and silent rest.
I weep --- my tears revive it not;
I sigh --- it breathes no more on me:
Its mute and uncomplaining lot
Is such as mine should be.
A una violeta marchita
La flor ha perdido el aroma
que alentaba igual que tus besos.
Su color ya se ha diluido
tras brillar solamente en ti.
Su forma muerta, enjuta, hueca,
yace en mi pecho abandonado
burlando al corazón ardiente
con su quietud fría y callada.
Mis lágrimas no la reaniman.
Mis suspiros no la reviven.
Su suerte muda y resignada
debiera ser ahora la mía.
Versión de Juan Abeleira y Alejandro ValeroEtiquetas: Percy Bysshe Shelley |
