De pulchritudine…

Estátua

Cansei-me de tentar o teu segredo:
No teu olhar sem cor, – frio escalpelo,
O meu olhar quebrei, a debatê-lo,
Como a onda na crista dum rochedo.

Segredo dessa alma e meu degredo
E minha obsessão! Para bebê-lo
Fui teu lábio oscular, num pesadelo,
Por noites de pavor, cheio de medo.

E o meu ósculo ardente, alucinado,
Esfriou sobre o mármore correcto
Desse entreaberto lábio gelado…

Desse lábio de mármore, discreto,
Severo como um túmulo fechado,
Sereno como um pélago quieto.

Clepsidra
Camilo Pessanha


Song of the Bronze Statue

Gone that emperor of Maoling,
Rider through the autumn wind,
Whose horse neighs at night
And has passed without trace by dawn.

The fragrance of autumn lingers still
On those cassia trees by painted galleries,
But on every palace hall the green moss grows.

As Wei's envoy sets out to drive a thousand li
The keen wind at the East Gate stings the statue's eyes…

From the ruined palace he brings nothing forth
But the moonshaped disk of Han,
True to his lord, he sheds leaden tears,
And withered orchids by the Xianyang Road
See the traveller on his way.

Ah, if Heaven had a feeling heart, it, too, must grow old!
He bears the disk off alone
By the light of the desolate moon,
The town far behind him, muted its lapping waves.

Li He
Chinese classical poet
9th century A.D.

RIC