quinta-feira, 11 de fevereiro de 2010

The softest sensations sail
Spreading incense through de air,
And this aroma all leafs exhale
Bear visions of thy golden hair.

Oh how neat thy snow-white skin
Absorbs the colors of the winter.
And in thine eyes, though far they seem,
All tones of blue gather and glitter.

Kindled by the dying sun
Thou knewest not that there I stood,
Cover’d behind the shrubs of plum
I stared thy courteous maidenhood.

And every time I think of thee
My mind does fare as much it may,
But if I consider a courtesy
My body halts, my thoughts say nay.

And thus I lay tangled in woe,
Too shy to escort my gentle belle
I weep my tears and dry my soul:
Too deep a grief, too deep to tell.

Alas, how terrible a state,
I’ll never step thy beauty dome!
Shall reconcile with my fate
To dream of love, but wake alone.

2 comentários:

  1. Um poema de bom-tom.

    Vejo que você continua postando com uma relativa frequência, mantendo a elegância e a erudição clássica características.

  2. Grato pelos elogios, espero ver o resto do pessoal postando mais por aqui também.