«Noche»: William Blake; poema y análisis.
Noche (Night) es un poema romántico del escritor inglés William Blake (1757-1827), publicado originalmente en la antología de 1789: Canciones de inocencia y experiencia (Songs of Innocence and of Experience). Es considerado como uno de los mejores poemas de William Blake.
Noche.
Night, William Blake (1757-1827)
Desciende el sol en occidente,
brilla el lucero vespertino;
los pájaros callan en sus nidos,
y yo debo buscar el mío.
La luna, como una flor
en el inmenso arco del cielo,
con placer silencioso,
se instala y sonríe en la noche.
Adiós, campos verdes y arboledas dichosas
donde los rebaños hallaron su deleite.
Donde los corderos pastaron, andan en silencio
los ángeles luminosos;
sin ser vistos vuelcan bendiciones
y alegrías interminables,
sobre cada brote y capullo,
y sobre cada corazón dormido.
Miran incluso en nidos impensados
donde las aves se refugian;
visitan las cuevas de todas las fieras,
para protegerlas de todo mal.
Si ven un llanto
en lugar del descanso,
derraman un sueño
y se sientan junto a la cama.
Cuando lobos y tigres aúllan por su presa,
se detienen y lloran apenados;
procuran desviar su sed en otro sentido,
y los alejan de las ganado.
Pero si embisten enfurecidos,
los ángeles amparan
con enorme cautela a cada espíritu manso
para que hereden mundos nuevos.
Y allí, el león de ojos rubicundos
volcará lágrimas doradas,
y apenado por los tiernos lamentos,
andará en torno a la manada,
y dirá: "La ira, por su mansedumbre,
y la enfermedad, por su salud,
es expulsada
de nuestro día inmortal.
Y ahora junto a ti, cordero que balas,
puedo recostarme y dormir;
o pensar en quien tu nombre llevaba,
pastar después de ti y llorar.
Pues lavada en el río de la vida
mi reluciente melena
brillará para eternamente como el oro,
mientras mis ojos vigilan.
THE sun descending in the west,
The evening star does shine;
The birds are silent in their nest.
And I must seek for mine.
The moon, like a flower
In heaven's high bower,
With silent delight
Sits and smiles on the night.
Farewell, green fields and happy grove,
Where flocks have took delight:
Where lambs have nibbled, silent move
The feet of angels bright;
Unseen they pour blessing
And joy without ceasing
On each bud and blossom,
And each sleeping bosom.
They look in every thoughtless nest
Where birds are cover'd warm;
They visit caves of every beast,
To keep them all from harm:
If they see any weeping
That should have been sleeping,
They pour sleep on their head,
And sit down by their bed.
When wolves and tigers howl for prey,
They pitying stand and weep,
Seeking to drive their thirst away
And keep them from the sheep.
But, if they rush dreadful,
The angels, most heedful,
Receive each mild spirit,
New worlds to inherit.
And there the lion's ruddy eyes
Shall flow with tears of gold:
And pitying the tender cries,
And walking round the fold:
Saying, 'Wrath, by His meekness,
And, by His health, sickness,
Are driven away
From our immortal day.
'And now beside thee, bleating lamb,
I can lie down and sleep,
Or think on Him who bore thy name,
Graze after thee, and weep.
For, wash'd in life's river,
My bright mane for ever
Shall shine like the gold
As I guard o'er the fold.'
William Blake (1757-1827)
The evening star does shine;
The birds are silent in their nest.
And I must seek for mine.
The moon, like a flower
In heaven's high bower,
With silent delight
Sits and smiles on the night.
Farewell, green fields and happy grove,
Where flocks have took delight:
Where lambs have nibbled, silent move
The feet of angels bright;
Unseen they pour blessing
And joy without ceasing
On each bud and blossom,
And each sleeping bosom.
They look in every thoughtless nest
Where birds are cover'd warm;
They visit caves of every beast,
To keep them all from harm:
If they see any weeping
That should have been sleeping,
They pour sleep on their head,
And sit down by their bed.
When wolves and tigers howl for prey,
They pitying stand and weep,
Seeking to drive their thirst away
And keep them from the sheep.
But, if they rush dreadful,
The angels, most heedful,
Receive each mild spirit,
New worlds to inherit.
And there the lion's ruddy eyes
Shall flow with tears of gold:
And pitying the tender cries,
And walking round the fold:
Saying, 'Wrath, by His meekness,
And, by His health, sickness,
Are driven away
From our immortal day.
'And now beside thee, bleating lamb,
I can lie down and sleep,
Or think on Him who bore thy name,
Graze after thee, and weep.
For, wash'd in life's river,
My bright mane for ever
Shall shine like the gold
As I guard o'er the fold.'
William Blake (1757-1827)
Poemas góticos. I Poemas de William Blake.
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El análisis, resumen y traducción al español del poema de William Blake: Noche (Night) fueron realizados por El Espejo Gótico. Para su reproducción escríbenos a elespejogotico@gmail.com
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