Sunday, November 11, 2012

Quando fiam uti chelidon?*

Le Prince d'Aquitaine a la tour abolie!*

As the Maidens resumed their chant...

The goddess inspires our song
sweetly and keeps good time
let us sing in like manner
see how all is blooming
in meadow, farm and pasture.
The morning lark chatters
the little crow clamours
greeting all of creation
whilst the nightingale mourns
what is past and now lost.
Already the swallow flits
as the swan honks sweetly
mindful of the way of things
and the cuckoo echoes
through the verdant woods.
The birds sing so beautifully
the landscape dazzles
in all its diverse colours
and its re-birth releases
such fragrant aromas.
Far and wide the limes stretch out
their leaves, branches and blossoms
and thyme flourishes beneath them
emerald like the very grass
on which our dance is held.
And winding through this grass
a giggling stream murmurs
this place is so delightful
even the wind is hushed here
whispering as befits the season
Poi s'ascose nel foco che gli affina*

* T.S. Eliot, "The Wasteland"

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