Laugh of the mountain!—lyre of bird and tree!
Pomp of the meadow! mirror of the morn!
The soul of April, unto whom are born
The rose and jessamine, leaps wild in thee!
Although, where’er thy devious current strays,
The lap of earth with gold and silver teems,
To me thy clear proceeding brighter seems
Than golden sands that charm each shepherd’s gaze.
How without guile thy bosom, all transparent
As the pure crystal, lets the curious eye
Thy secrets scan, thy smooth, round pebbles count!
How, without malice murmuring, glides thy current,
O sweet simplicity of days gone by!
Thou shun’st the haunts of man, to dwell in limpid fount!
Lopez Maldonado (died 1615) Spain
Translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Source: The Sonnets of Europe, edited by Samuel Waddington. London: Walter Scott, 1888
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please keep your comments relevant and free from abusive language. Thank you. Note that comments are moderated so it may be a day or two before your comment is posted - irrelevant or abusive comments will not be published.