Sueños. Poemas de Edgar Allan Poe

                                                                                                 Dibujo de Michelle Walker

                                                                        http://www.prettymorbidity.com/

 

 

Sueños

¡Ojala mi joven vida fuera un sueño duradero!
y mi espíritu durmiera hasta que el rayo certero
de una eternidad anunciara el nuevo día.
¡Sí! Aunque el largo sueño fuera de agonía
siempre sería mejor que estar despierto
para quien tuvo, desde el nacimiento
en esta dulce tierra, el corazón
prisionero del caos de la pasión.

Mas si ese sueño persistiera eternamente
como los sueños infantiles en mi mente
solían persistir, si eso ocurriera,
sería ridículo esperar una quimera.

Porque he soñado que el sol resplandecía
en el cielo estival, lleno de luz bravía
y de belleza, y mi corazón he paseado
por climas remotos e inventados,
junto a seres imaginarios, sólo previstos
por mí... ¿Qué más podría haber visto?

Pero una vez, una única vez -y ya no olvidaré
aquel bárbaro momento- un poder o no sé qué
hechizo me ciñó, o fue que el viento helado
sopló de noche y al marchar dejó grabado
en mi espíritu su rastro, o fue la luna
que brilló en mis sueños con especial fortuna
y frialdad o las estrellas... en cualquier caso
el sueño fue como ese viento: démosle paso.

Yo he sido feliz, pues, aunque el sistema
fuera un sueño. Fui feliz y adoro el tema:
¡sueños! Tanto por su intenso colorido
como por ese efímero, brumoso parecido
que oponen a lo real, y porque al ojo delirante
ofrecen cosas más bellas y abundantes
del paraíso y del amor -¡y todas nuestras!-
que la esperanza joven en sus mejores muestras.

 

 

Dreams

Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream!

My spirit not awakening, till the beam

Of an Eternity should bring the morrow.

Yes! tho’ that long dream were of hopeless sorrow,

    ’Twere better than the cold reality

    Of waking life, to him whose heart must be,

    And hath been still, upon the lovely earth,

    A chaos of deep passion, from his birth.

    But should it be- that dream eternally

    Continuing- as dreams have been to me

    In my young boyhood- should it thus be given,

    ’Twere folly still to hope for higher Heaven.

    For I have revell’d, when the sun was bright

    I’ the summer sky, in dreams of living light

    And loveliness,- have left my very heart

    In climes of my imagining, apart

    From mine own home, with beings that have been

    Of mine own thought- what more could I have seen?

    ’Twas once- and only once- and the wild hour

    From my remembrance shall not pass- some power

    Or spell had bound me- ’twas the chilly wind

    Came o’er me in the night, and left behind

    Its image on my spirit- or the moon

    Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon

    Too coldly- or the stars- howe’er it was

    That dream was as that night-wind- let it pass.

 

    I have been happy, tho’ in a dream.

    I have been happy- and I love the theme:

    Dreams! in their vivid coloring of life,

    As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife

    Of semblance with reality, which brings

    To the delirious eye, more lovely things

    Of Paradise and Love- and all our own!

    Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known.

 

 

 A Dream within a Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow --
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less _gone_?
_All_ that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

 

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand --
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep -- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
_One_ from the pitiless wave?
Is _all_ that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

Un Sueño dentro de un Sueño

¡Recibe en la frente este beso!
Y, por librarme de un peso
antes de partir, confieso
que acertaste si creías
que han sido un sueño mis días;
¿Pero es acaso menos grave
que la esperanza se acabe
de noche o a pleno sol,
con o sin una visión?
Hasta nuestro último empeño
es sólo un sueño dentro de un sueño.

Frente a la mar rugiente
que castiga esta rompiente
tengo en la palma apretada
granos de arena dorada.
¡Son pocos! Y en un momento
se me escurren y yo siento
surgir en mí este lamento:
¡Oh Dios! ¿Por qué no puedo
retenerlos en mis dedos?
¡Oh Dios! ¡Si yo pudiera
salvar uno de la marea!
¿Hasta nuestro último empeño
es sólo un sueño dentro de un sueño?

 

A Dream

         In visions of the dark night

        I have dreamed of joy departed-

      But a waking dream of life and light

        Hath left me broken-hearted.

 

      Ah! what is not a dream by day

        To him whose eyes are cast

      On things around him with a ray

        Turned back upon the past?

 

      That holy dream- that holy dream,

        While all the world were chiding,

      Hath cheered me as a lovely beam

        A lonely spirit guiding.

 

      What though that light, thro’ storm and night,

        So trembled from afar-

      What could there be more purely bright

        In Truth’s day-star?

 

Dreamland

            By a route obscure and lonely,

            Haunted by ill angels only,

            Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,

            On a black throne reigns upright,

            I have reached these lands but newly

            From an ultimate dim Thule-

            From a wild clime that lieth, sublime,

               Out of SPACE- out of TIME.

 

            Bottomless vales and boundless floods,

            And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods,

            With forms that no man can discover

            For the tears that drip all over;

            Mountains toppling evermore

            Into seas without a shore;

            Seas that restlessly aspire,

            Surging, unto skies of fire;

            Lakes that endlessly outspread

            Their lone waters- lone and dead,-

            Their still waters- still and chilly

            With the snows of the lolling lily.

 

            By the lakes that thus outspread

            Their lone waters, lone and dead,-

            Their sad waters, sad and chilly

            With the snows of the lolling lily,-

            By the mountains- near the river

            Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever,-

            By the grey woods,- by the swamp

            Where the toad and the newt encamp-

            By the dismal tarns and pools

               Where dwell the Ghouls,-

            By each spot the most unholy-

            In each nook most melancholy-

            There the traveller meets aghast

            Sheeted Memories of the Past-

            Shrouded forms that start and sigh

            As they pass the wanderer by-

            White-robed forms of friends long given,

            In agony, to the Earth- and Heaven.

 

            For the heart whose woes are legion

            ’Tis a peaceful, soothing region-

            For the spirit that walks in shadow

 

EDGAR ALLAN POE

 

http://www.poetryloverspage.com/poets/poe/poe_ind.html

 http://elmistico.com.ar/poetas/poe.htm#title

 http://www.dim.uchile.cl/~anmoreir/escritos/poe.html#sleeper