#edward thomas

UNA GATA

Acaso fue nombrada entre los niños; nadie la quiso, aunque tuviera un amo que cada noche le cerró la puerta, sus mininos le ahogaba año tras año.

Y con todo esta gata, en primavera, comió mirlos, zorzales, ruiseñores, aves de pluma, vuelo y voz galanos, junto con las basuras de los botes.

Por tal la aborrecía yo y la odiaba: solo una mota de un zorzal valía lo que un millón de éstas, y no obstante, sólo la llevó Dios tras larga vida.

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A CAT

She had a name among the children; But no one loved though someone owned Her, locked her out of doors at bedtime And had her kittens duly drowned.

In Spring, nevertheless, this cat Ate blackbirds, thrushes, nightingales, And birds of bright voice and plume and flight, As well as scraps from neighbours’ pails.

I loathed and hated her for this; One speckle on a thrush’s breast Was worth a million such; and yet She lived long, till God gave her rest.

Edward Thomas

CAVANDO

Hoy sólo pienso con olores… olor de la hojarasca, de helechos y de granos de acenoria, del tablar de mostaza;

Aromas que rinde la pala cuando hiere en una cepa, a apio, grosella, podagraria o rosa, a ruibarbo o frambuesa;

También del humo, cual la hoguera trasmina que alimentan lo muerto, desechado, lo dañino, y todo en dulzor trueca.

Con eso basta: oler, desmoronar la gleba fosca, mientras el colorín vuelve a cantar con triste son las otoñales glorias.

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DIGGING

Today I think Only with scents,—scents dead leaves yield, And bracken, and wild carrot’s seed, And the square mustard field;

Odours that rise When the spade wounds the roots of tree, Rose, currant, raspberry, or goutweed, Rhubarb or celery;

The smoke’s smell, too, Flowing from where a bonfire burns The dead, the waste, the dangerous, And all to sweetness turns.

It is enough To smell, to crumble the dark earth, While the robin sings over again Sad songs of Autumn mirth.

Edward Thomas

Out in the dark over the snow The fallow fawns invisible go With the fallow doe ; And the winds blow Fast as the stars are slow.   Stealthily the dark haunts round And, when the lamp goes, without sound At a swifter bound Than the swiftest hound, Arrives, and all else is drowned ;   And star and I and wind and deer, Are in the dark together, - near, Yet far, - and fear Drums on my ear In that sage company drear.   How weak and little is the light, All the universe of sight, Love and delight, Before the might, If you love it not, of night.

Edward Thomas

In the great silence of snow,

A child was sighing

And bitterly saying: "Oh,

They have killed a white bird up there on her nest,

The down is fluttering from her breast."

And still it fell through that dusky brightness

On the child crying for the bird of the snow.

Foi-se embora, uma vez mais,Maio, junho e tambémJulho, e agosto se esvai,De novo, como convém, Banais, salvo pelo fatoDe vê-los passar, tal qualAtravessam os regatosUm vago cais fluvial. E no presente também,Sob as chuvas da estação,as laranjas de BlenheimCaem sujas pelo chão, Como nos meus anos idos —O perdido era presente —A guerra mudando osJovens em fertilizante. Veja o velho…

"Thunderstorm" by the Polish artist Józef Chełmoński.

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“Things will happen that will trample and pierce, but I shall go on, something that is here and there like the wind, something unconquerable, something not to be separated from the dark earth and the light sky, a strong citizen of infinity and eternity.”