Yes, I am immortal. Roaring foam
The cruel and disheveled wickedness
Bite itself away, for it cannot in anger
Extinguish the living flame of reason.

Believe me, dear friends,
the raging sickle of time does not consume
this living spark, which, burning,
fell from the breath of the Supreme God.

The righteous on earth, raising
His shackled arms to heaven, and the tyrant
Vice from his throne with his foot stamping,

They make the false deception flee
That struggles in vain, to see
the sober disillusionment of the truth groaning.

 

In a fertile field of superb Douro,
Sleeping on the grass, she rested,
When I saw that Fortune showed me
With joyful countenance her treasure.

On the one hand, a lot of silver and gold
With valuable stones the ground curved;
Here a scepter, there a throne stood,
Thousands of grass and laurel wreaths hung.

– The misadventure is over – he tells me then:
Of how many goods I show you, which one pleases you,
For I grant them with kindness, go, seek.

I chose, woke up, and saw nothing:
I settled down with me as soon as the adventure
It never goes beyond being dreamed.

 

When the first time, from my land
I left the nights of loving charm,
My sweet lover sighing My
eyes damp with tears.

A romance sang goodbye,
But longing dulled the song!
Tears wiped her beautiful eyes…
And she gave me the handkerchief that dipped her tears.

How many years have passed yet!
Do not forget but love so holy!
I still keep it in a perfumed safe
Her handkerchief that wet the tears…

I never met her again in my life.
I, however, my God, loved her so much!
Oh! when I die spread on my face
The handkerchief that I also bathed in tears!

 

My homeland has many palm-trees
and the thrush-song fills its air;
no bird here can sing as well
as the birds sing over there.

We have fields more full of flowers
and a starrier sky above,
we have woods more full of life
and a life more full of love.

Lonely night-time meditations
please me more when I am there;
my homeland has many palm-trees
and the thrush-song fills its air.

Such delights as my land offers
Are not found here nor elsewhere;
lonely night-time meditations
please me more when I am there;
My homeland has many palm-trees
and the thrush-song fills its air.

Don’t allow me, God, to die
without getting back to where
I belong, without enjoying
the delights found only there,
without seeing all those palm-trees,
hearing thrush-songs fill the air.

Translation by Nelson Ascher

We present this work in honor of the 105th anniversary of the poet’s death.

 

Look at these old trees, more lovely these
Than younger trees, more friendly too by far:
More beautiful the older that they are,
Victorious over age and stormy seas …

The beasts, the insects, man, under the tree
Have lived, and been from toil and hunger free;
And in its higher branches safe and sound
Incessant songs of birds and love are found.

Our youth now lost, my friend, let’s not bemoan!
Let’s laugh as we grow old! Let us grow old
As do the trees, so nobly, strong and bold

Enjoy the glorious kindness we have sown,
And succor in our branches those who seek,
The shade and comfort offered to the weak!

Translation by Frederic G. William

We present this work in honor of the 115th anniversary of the poet’s death.

 

The firefly danced in the air impatiently:
“Oh how I wish that I could be that yellow,
That burns in the eternal blue, a candle far!”
And yet the star gazed on the moon with jealousy:

“If only I could copy such transparency,
Which, from the Grecian column to the Gothic sill,
Has contemplated lovers’ faces sighingly!”
And yet the moon gazed on the sun with bitter will:

“Oh misery! If l could be that giant ball,
Immortal clarity, the sum of all that’s light!”
The sun, though, leans his brilliant chaplet o´er the wall:

I’m burdened by this numen’s aureole bright…
Pm wearied by this blue, unbounded parasol…
Why could I not be born a firefly at night?”

Translation by Frederic G. William