LITERATURA UNIVERSAL
LEE TODOS LOS DETALLES
P.B.Shelley
"Elegía a la muerte de John Keats” XXXIX, XL, XLI, XLIII.
XXXIX
Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep,
He hath awaken'd from the dream of life;
'Tis we, who lost in stormy visions, keep
With phantoms an unprofitable strife,
And in mad trance, strike with our spirit's knife
Invulnerable nothings. We decay
Like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief
Convulse us and consume us day by day,
And cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay.
XL
He has outsoar'd the shadow of our night;
Envy and calumny and hate and pain,
And that unrest which men miscall delight,
Can touch him not and torture not again;
From the contagion of the world's slow stain
He is secure, and now can never mourn
A heart grown cold, a head grown gray in vain;
Nor, when the spirit's self has ceas'd to burn,
With sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn.
XLI
He lives, he wakes--'tis Death is dead, not he;
Mourn not for Adonais. Thou young Dawn,
Turn all thy dew to splendour, for from thee
The spirit thou lamentest is not gone;
Ye caverns and ye forests, cease to moan!
Cease, ye faint flowers and fountains, and thou Air,
Which like a mourning veil thy scarf hadst thrown
O'er the abandon'd Earth, now leave it bare
Even to the joyous stars which smile on its despair!
XLII
He is made one with Nature: there is heard
His voice in all her music, from the moan
Of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird;
He is a presence to be felt and known
In darkness and in light, from herb and stone,
Spreading itself where'er that Power may move
Which has withdrawn his being to its own;
Which wields the world with never-wearied love,
Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.
XLIII
He is a portion of the loveliness
Which once he made more lovely: he doth bear
His part, while the one Spirit's plastic stress
Sweeps through the dull dense world, compelling there
All new successions to the forms they wear;
Torturing th' unwilling dross that checks its flight
To its own likeness, as each mass may bear;
And bursting in its beauty and its might
From trees and beasts and men into the Heaven's light.
Callad, que no está muerto ni dormido;
XXXIX
Callad, que no está muerto ni dormido;
despertó ya del sueño de la vida.
Perdidos en visiones tempestuosas
y armados contra espectros sostenemos
contienda estéril y en delirio loco
el puñal del espíritu clavamos
en el vacío invulnerable. Si,
cruel despojos sepultos decaemos,
el temor y la angustia día a día
nos crispan y consumen, y esperanzas
friolentas cual gusanos hormiguean
en la entraña del barro que vivimos.
XL
Ascendió más allá de las tinieblas
de nuestra noche; envidia ni calumnia,
odio, dolor, ni esta inquietud que el hombre
llama placer le tocan ni le hieren;
se libró del contagio de esta lenta
mancha del mundo, y no podrá ya nunca
gemir en vano cuando el tiempo torne
helado el corazón, gris la cabeza,
ni al dejar de arder el alma misma
llenarán sus cenizas sin fulgor.
urna desamparada por el llanto.
XLI
Vive, vela. No lloréis por Adonais.
La muerte murió, no él. Tú, joven
amanecer, enciende tu rocío,
no se ha ido el espíritu que lloras;
vosotras, grutas, selvas, no gimáis,
ni vosotras, flores y fuentes lánguidas.
Y tú, aire, que extiendes como un velo
de dolor tu cendal sobre la tierra
desolada, desnúdala hasta el alto
fulgor en que sonríen los alegres
XLIII
Parte es de la belleza que otros días
hizo más bella; está con el espíritu
cuya potencia plástica recorre
la entraña del espeso mundo inerte
y crea desde allí todas las formas
que revisten las nuevas sucesiones,
y tortura a la escoria en rebeldía
que se resiste al vuelo que la encumbra
a su alta identidad, según la masa
la comparte, y estalla esplendorosa
en todo su vigor y su belleza
desde el árbol, las bestias y los hombres
hasta la luz del cielo