| ’Twas on a lofty vase’s side, Where China’s gayest art had dyed The azure flowers that blow; Demurest of the tabby kind, The pensive Selima, reclined, Gazed on the lake below. |
Spre vasul falnic şi obez Pe care un artist chinez Pictase nenufari, Selima – cea mai sfiicioasă Din seminţia pisicoasă – Privea cu ochii mari. |
| Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so; For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery. Thou’art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, And poppy’or charms can make us sleep as well And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then? One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die. |
Să nu te-ngâmfi tu, Moarte, căci nu eşti Mult vajnică şi rea precât se spune; Iar toţi acei ce crezi că-i vei răpune Nu mor; nici viaţa n-ai să mi-o răpeşti. Ca Somnu-arăţi, ca Tihna – deci mai bune Desfătări s-ar cădea să izvodeşti; Pe cei mai vrednici inşi curând momeşti În tihna-ţi duh şi oase spre-a-şi depune! Slujeşti al soartei zar, pe laşi, pe regi, Te-ncuibi în boli, otrăvuri şi-n război; Ci mac sau vrăji la fel ne-adorm pe noi Ca ghiontul tău… De ce fălite-ai deci? Scurt somnul ni-i, mereu trezi fi-vom, şi Pieri-va Moartea: Moarte, vei muri! |
| John Donne | traducere de Tudor Dorin |
An executive was interviewing a young blonde for a position in his company. He wanted to find out something about her personality so he asked, „If you could have a conversation with anyone, living or dead, who would it be?”
The blonde quickly responded, „The living one.”
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