The Song of Shadows
Walter
de la Mare
Sweep thy faint strings, Musician,
With thy long lean hand;
Downward the starry tapers burn,
Sinks soft the waning sand;
The old hound whimpers couched in sleep,
The embers smoulder low;
Across the walls the shadows
Come, and go.
Sweep softly thy strings, Musician,
The minutes mount to hours;
Frost on the windless casement weaves
A labyrinth of flowers;
Ghosts linger in the darkening air,
Hearken at the open door;
Music hath called them, dreaming,
Home once more."
With thy long lean hand;
Downward the starry tapers burn,
Sinks soft the waning sand;
The old hound whimpers couched in sleep,
The embers smoulder low;
Across the walls the shadows
Come, and go.
Sweep softly thy strings, Musician,
The minutes mount to hours;
Frost on the windless casement weaves
A labyrinth of flowers;
Ghosts linger in the darkening air,
Hearken at the open door;
Music hath called them, dreaming,
Home once more."
CANÇÃO DAS SOMBRAS
Toca as
delicadas cordas, Músico,
Com tua mão magra e longa;
Abaixo as
velas estreladas queimam,
Desmancham-se
suavemente na areia;
O velho
sabugueiro em sonhos se queixa,
As brasas,
em fogo baixo, ardem;
Através
dos muros as sombras chegam,
Vem e
vão.
Toca
ternamente as cordas, Músico,
Com os
minutos monta as horas;
A geada,
sem vento, nos batentes
Tece um
labirinto de flores;
Fantasmas
permanecem no ar que escurece,
Ouvindo
pela porta aberta;
A música
os chama, os convida a sonhar,
Uma vez
mais, a regressar ao lugar.
Ilustração: bardodassombras.blogspot.com
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