18 Mar

„Sonet LXXXVI” de William Shakespeare

Was it the proud full sail of his great verse
Bound for the prize of all-too-precious you
That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse,
Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?
Semeţ întinde vela poeziei
cel ce de preţul tău este legat,
cum gândului închis în creier fie-i
mormânt, matricea care l-a-nălţat.
Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write
Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?
No, neither he nor his compeers by night
Giving him aid my verse astonished
Ce spirite pe creste i-au dus firea
încât lovit de moarte-n faţă-i sunt?
Nici el, nici fraţii lui de nicăierea
n-or să-mi uimească versul care-l cânt.
He nor that affable familiar ghost
Which nightly gulls him with intelligence,
As victors, of my silence cannot boast;
I was no sick of any fear from thence.
Nici el, nici nobilele lui vedenii
care-i înşeală ochii-n asfinţit
n-or să-mi învingă linişti şi muţenii,
nicicând de teama lor n-am suferit.
But when your countenance filled up his line,
Then lacked I matter; that enfeebled mine.
Când versu-i umpli lui, cu inspirare,
al meu rămâne fără de suflare.
William Shakespeare traducere de Gheorghe Tomozei

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