Amy |
Amy Lowell
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Versiones de Jorge Aulicino |
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Nieve que cae
La nieve susurra a mi alrededor
En las frías mañanas grises
El vecino se sienta en la ventana y toca la flauta.
Falling Snow
The snow whispers around me /And my wooden clogs /Leave holes behind me in the snow. /But no one will pass this way /Seeking my footsteps, /And when the temple bell rings again /They will be covered and gone.
In the cloud gray mornings /I heard the herons Flying /And when I came into my garden, /My silken outer-garment /Trailed over withered leaves. /A dried leaf crumbles at a touch, /But I have seen many Autumns /With herons blowing like smoke /Across the sky. The neighbour sits in his window and plays the flute./From my bed I can hear him,/And the round notes flutter and tap about the room,/And hit against each other,/Blurring to unexpected chords./It is very beautiful,/With the little flute-notes all about me,/In the darkness./In the daytime,/The neighbour eats bread and onions with one hand/ And copies music with the other./He is fat and has a bald head,/So I do not look at him,/But run quickly past his window./There is always the sky to look at,/Or the water in the well!/But when night comes and he plays his flute,/I think of him as a young man,/With gold seals hanging from his watch,/And a blue coat with silver buttons./As I lie in my bed /The flute-notes push against my ears and lips,/And I go to sleep, dreaming.
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