O quam te memorem virgo... **
Çàñòàíè íà ñòúëáèòå, íà íàé-âèñîêîòî ñòúïàëî –
Îáëåãíè ñå íà êàìåííà ñàêñèÿ –
Ïëåòè,ïëåòè êîñèòå ñè âúâ ñëúí÷åâè ëú÷è –
Ïðèòèñíè êúì ñåáå ñè öâåòÿòà ñ îñòðà èçíåíàäà –
Çàõâúðëè ãè íà çåìÿòà è ñå îáúðíè
Ñ áåçìúëâåí óêîð âúâ î÷è:
Íî ïëåòè, ïëåòè êîñèòå ñè âúâ ñëúí÷åâè ëú÷è..
È òàêà òîé ùå òðÿáâà äà ñè òðúãíå,
È òàêà òÿ ùå òðÿáâà äà ñòîè è äà òúæè,
È òàêà òîé ùå ñè å òðúãíàë
Êàêòî äóøàòà íàïóñêà òÿëî ðàçêúñàíî è íàðàíåíî,
Êàêòî ðàçóìúò íàïóñêà òÿëîòî èçïîëçâàíî.
Òðÿáâà äà íàìåðÿ
Íà÷èí íåñðàâíèìî ëåê, óìåë,
Íà÷èí è äâàìàòà äà ðàçáåðåì,
Ïðîñò è íåâåðåí êàòî óñìèâêà è çäðàâèñâàíå.
Òÿ ñè òðúãíà, íî çàåäíî ñ åñåííîòî âðåìå
Âúëíóâà âúîáðàæåíèåòî ìè ìíîãî äíè,
Ìíîãî äíè è ìíîãî ÷àñîâå:
Êîñà ñå ñïóñêà ïî ðúöåòå é, à ðúöåòå è ñà ïúëíè ñ öâåòÿ.
È ñå ÷óäÿ êàê áèõà ìîãëè äà ñà çàåäíî!
Òðÿáâà äà ñúì ïðîïóñíàë íÿêîé æåñò èëè ïîçà.
Ïîíÿêîãà òåçè ìèñëè îùå îìàéâàò
òðåâîæíàòà íîù è îòìîðàòà íà äåíÿ.
*Ìîìè÷åòî, êîåòî ïëà÷å
** Ìèñëÿ, ÷å òå ïîçíàâàì, äåâî… (Äàíòå)
T.S. Eliot - La Figlia che Piange
O quam te memorem virgo...
STAND on the highest pavement of the stair—
Lean on a garden urn—
Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair—
Clasp your flowers to you with a pained surprise—
Fling them to the ground and turn
With a fugitive resentment in your eyes:
But weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.
So I would have had him leave,
So I would have had her stand and grieve,
So he would have left
As the soul leaves the body torn and bruised,
As the mind deserts the body it has used.
I should find
Some way incomparably light and deft,
Some way we both should understand,
Simple and faithless as a smile and shake of the hand.
She turned away, but with the autumn weather
Compelled my imagination many days,
Many days and many hours:
Her hair over her arms and her arms full of flowers.
And I wonder how they should have been together!
I should have lost a gesture and a pose.
Sometimes these cogitations still amaze
The troubled midnight and the noon’s repose.