Cancion De Otoño En Primavera (Song Of Autumn In The Springtime)

Poem By Ruben Dario

Juventud, divino tesoro,
ya te vas para no volver!
Cuando quiero llorar, no lloro,
y a veces lloro sin querer….

Plural ha sido la celeste
historia de mi corazon.
Era una dulce niña, en este
mundo de duelo y afliccion.

Miraba como el alba pura;
sonreía como una flor.
Era su cabellera obscura
hecha de noche y de dolor.

Yo era timido como un nino.
Ella, naturalmente, fue,
para mi amor hecho de armiño,
Herodías y Salome….

Juventud, divino tesoro,
ya te vas para no volver….!
Cuando quiero llorar, no lloro,
y a veces lloro sin querer….

La otra fue mas sensitiva
y mas consoladora y mas
halagadora y expresiva,
cual no pensé encontrar jamás.

Pues a su continua ternura
una pasion violenta unia.
En un peplo de gasa pura
una bacante se envolvia….

En sus brazos tomo mi ensueno
y lo arrullo como a un bebe….
y lo mato, triste y pequeño,
falto de luz, falto de fe….

Juventud, divino tesoro,
te fuiste para no volver!
Cuando quiero llorar, no lloro,
y a veces lloro sin querer….

Otra juzgo que era mi boca
el estuche de su pasion;
y que me roería, loca,
con sus dientes el corazon

poniendo en un amor de exceso
la mira de su voluntad,
mientras eran abrazo y beso
síntesis de la eternidad;

y de nuestra carne ligera
imaginar siempre un Eden,
sin pensar que la Primavera
y la carne acaban tambien….

Juventud, divino tesoro,
ya te vas para no volver!
Cuando quiero llorar, no lloro,
y a veces lloro sin querer….

Y las demas! en tantos climas,
en tantas tierras, siempre son,
si no pretextos de mis rimas,
fantasmas de mi corazon.

En vano busqué a la princesa
que estaba triste de esperar.
La vida es dura. Amarga y pesa.
Ya no hay princesa que cantar!

Más a pesar del tiempo terco,
mi sed de amor no tiene fin:
con el cabello gris me acerco
a los rosales del jardín….

Juventud, divino tesoro,
ya te vas para no volver….
Cuando quiero llorar, no lloro,
y a veces lloro sin querer….

Más es mía el Alba de oro!


English Translation

Song of Autumn in the Springtime


Youth, treasure only gods may keep,
Fleeting from me forever now!
I cannot, when I wish to, weep,
And often cry I know not how…

My heart's celestial histories,
So countless were, could not be told.-
She was a tender child, in this
World of affliction manifold.

She seemed a dawn of pure delight;
She smiled as the flowers after rain;
Her tresses were like to the night
Fashioned of darknesses and pain.

I was timid and childlike shy.
I could not but have been this way:
She, to my love chaste as the sky,
Was Herodias and Salomé…

Youth, treasure only gods may keep,
Fleeting from me forever now!
I cannot, when I wish to, weep,
And often cry I know not how…

The other was more sensitive,
More quieting and loving-kind,
With greater will to love and live
Than I ever had hoped to find.

For with her grace of tenderness
A violence of love she had:
In a peplos of loveliness
Was hid a Maenad passion mad…

Youth, treasure only gods may keep,
Wilted in me forever now!
I cannot, when I wish to, weep,
And often cry I know not how…

Another fancied my lips were
A casket wrought to hold her love;
And wildly with the teeth of her
To gnaw my very heart she strove.

She willed all passionate excess;
She was a flame of love for me;
She made each ardorous caress
Synthesis of eternity.

She deemed our flesh a deathless thing,
And on desire an Eden reared,
Forgetting that the flowers of Spring
And of the flesh so soon are seared…

Youth, treasure only gods may keep,
Fleeting from me forever now!
I cannot, when I wish to, weep,
And often cry I know not how…

And the others! In many climes,
In so many lands, ever were
Merely the pretext for my rhymes,
Or heart-born fantasies of her.

I sought for the princess in vain,
She that awaited sorrowing.
But life is hard. Bitter with pain.
There is no princess now to sing!

And yet despite the season drear,
My thirst of love no slaking knows;
Gray-haired am I, yet still draw near
The roses of the garden-close….

Youth, treasure only gods may keep,
Fleeting from me forever now!
I cannot, when I wish to, weep,
And often cry I know not how…

Ah, but the golden Dawn is mine!

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