Emoções e Sentimentos

Puseste por brincadeira
A touca da tua irmã.
Ó corpo de bailadeira,
Toda a noite tem manhã.

Vai alta sobre a montanha
Uma nuvem sem razão.
Meu coração acompanha
O não teres coração.

Entornaram-me o cabaz
Quando eu vinha pela estrada.
Como ele estava vazio,
Não houve loiça quebrada.

Mas que grande disparate
É o que penso e o que sinto.
Meu coração bate, bate
E se sonho muito, minto.

Nunca houve romaria
Que se lembrassem de mim...
Também quem se lembraria
De quem se lamenta assim?

Nunca houve romaria
Que se lembrassem de mim...
Também quem se lembraria
De quem se lamenta assim?

Quando passas pela rua
Sem reparar em quem passa,
A alegria é toda tua
E minha toda a desgraça.

Quando passas pela rua
Sem reparar em quem passa,
A alegria é toda tua
E minha toda a desgraça.

Loura, teus olhos de céu
Têm um azul que é fatal.
Bem sei: foi Deus que tos deu.
Mas então Deus fez o mal?

He that would conquer must a soldier be.
He that a soldier will be must be made
To bear all the hard preface of his trade,
        All the rough training must he bear
Whereby he shall the conqueror
……

All pain, all failure and all woe ­
These are but training we must undergo
Ere those heights of ourselves we full can reach
        Whence God has things to teach
And the discarnate fate that girds us round
        Still more to teach and more to wound.

With patience and with fortitude
        Bear thou thy training rude,
Support with grace thy masters that are days
        Made of pain and amaze,
Thy potion take, even it that potion look
That Socrates for his divinity took.

To Aesculape the cock immolate,
        To the Masters of thy fate
Abandon life, thyself strong above all
        Thy power to let things thee appall,
By the sole virtue of thy power set far
        Over thy power to feel fate's war.

The rest, that thing that shall remain of thee
        When land and sky and sea
Alike are mist in thy unseeing eyes,
        This shall nowise
Mater, nor all when all is thine abode,
        Nor God himself when all is God.

He that would conquer must a soldier be.
He that a soldier will be must be made
To bear all the hard preface of his trade,
        All the rough training must he bear
Whereby he shall the conqueror
……

All pain, all failure and all woe ­
These are but training we must undergo
Ere those heights of ourselves we full can reach
        Whence God has things to teach
And the discarnate fate that girds us round
        Still more to teach and more to wound.

With patience and with fortitude
        Bear thou thy training rude,
Support with grace thy masters that are days
        Made of pain and amaze,
Thy potion take, even it that potion look
That Socrates for his divinity took.

To Aesculape the cock immolate,
        To the Masters of thy fate
Abandon life, thyself strong above all
        Thy power to let things thee appall,
By the sole virtue of thy power set far
        Over thy power to feel fate's war.

The rest, that thing that shall remain of thee
        When land and sky and sea
Alike are mist in thy unseeing eyes,
        This shall nowise
Mater, nor all when all is thine abode,
        Nor God himself when all is God.

He that would conquer must a soldier be.
He that a soldier will be must be made
To bear all the hard preface of his trade,
        All the rough training must he bear
Whereby he shall the conqueror
……

All pain, all failure and all woe ­
These are but training we must undergo
Ere those heights of ourselves we full can reach
        Whence God has things to teach
And the discarnate fate that girds us round
        Still more to teach and more to wound.

With patience and with fortitude
        Bear thou thy training rude,
Support with grace thy masters that are days
        Made of pain and amaze,
Thy potion take, even it that potion look
That Socrates for his divinity took.

To Aesculape the cock immolate,
        To the Masters of thy fate
Abandon life, thyself strong above all
        Thy power to let things thee appall,
By the sole virtue of thy power set far
        Over thy power to feel fate's war.

The rest, that thing that shall remain of thee
        When land and sky and sea
Alike are mist in thy unseeing eyes,
        This shall nowise
Mater, nor all when all is thine abode,
        Nor God himself when all is God.

Esse frio cumprimento
Tem ironia p’ra mim.
Porque é o mesmo movimento
Com que a gente diz que sim...

Tens uns brincos sem valia
E um lenço que não é nada,
Mas quem dera ter o dia
De quem és a madrugada.

My thoughts are something my soul fears.
        I tremble at my very glee.
        Sometimes I feel arrive in me
A dim, a cold. a sad, a fierce
        A lust‑like spirituality.

It makes me one with all the grass.
        My life takes colour at all flowers.
The breeze that seemeth loth to pass
        Shakes off red petals from my hours
        And my heart sulters without showers.

Then God becomes a vice of mine
        And divine feelings an embrace
That sinks my senses in its wine
        And leaves no outline in my ways
Of seeing God flower, grow and shine.

My thoughts and feelings mingle and form
        A vague and hot soul‑unity.
Like a sea that expects a storm,
        A lazy ache and fret make me
A murmur like a coming swarm.

My parched thoughts mix and occupy
        Their interpresences and swell
To each others' places. I descry
        Nought in me save impossible
Mixtures of many things all I.

I am a drunkard of my thoughts.
        My feelings' juice o'erruns my soul.
        My will becomes soaked in them all.
Then life stagnates a dream and rots
        To beauty in my verses' dole.

O moinho que mói trigo
Mexe-o o vento ou a água,
Mas o que tenho comigo
Mexe-o apenas a mágoa.

O moinho que mói trigo
Mexe-o o vento ou a água,
Mas o que tenho comigo
Mexe-o apenas a mágoa.

When slattern Time, worn out with toil of wearing,
With loose‑tied pack shall trudge upon my years,
And I shall feel that forced occasion nearing
That despair's self (that must live to be) fears,

I, being beggared of all wealth of hope -
So prodigal have I to wishes been -
Shall with known uselessness for the coin grope
To pay that the hour’s ending be serene.

I shall not enter the great silent cave
With curious ardour, or ease out of sun,
But all that with me I shall then still have
Will be a coward rage that all is done.

No hope the cave's a passage shall control
Fear of the immediate night of the shown hole.

When slattern Time, worn out with toil of wearing,
With loose‑tied pack shall trudge upon my years,
And I shall feel that forced occasion nearing
That despair's self (that must live to be) fears,

I, being beggared of all wealth of hope -
So prodigal have I to wishes been -
Shall with known uselessness for the coin grope
To pay that the hour’s ending be serene.

I shall not enter the great silent cave
With curious ardour, or ease out of sun,
But all that with me I shall then still have
Will be a coward rage that all is done.

No hope the cave's a passage shall control
Fear of the immediate night of the shown hole.

O pescador do mar alto
Vem contente de pescar.
Se prometo, sempre falto:
Receio não agradar.

O pescador do mar alto
Vem contente de pescar.
Se prometo, sempre falto:
Receio não agradar.

Sorrow no more for the faded rose,
Nor of the yellow lily despair.
These, as we see them, are but their shows.
They are elsewhere.

Tis but their shadow lives in our light.
As we see them (...)
They live more truly in our delight
Than in their forms.

The beauty they had was never lost,
It moved away
From the present hour and the form once tossed
Into space and day.

But the undying essence of the (...)

The rose that faded from yesterday
Is where yesterday is.
I shall have again the flower and the day,
The self and the bliss.

Sorrow no more for the faded rose,
Nor of the yellow lily despair.
These, as we see them, are but their shows.
They are elsewhere.

Tis but their shadow lives in our light.
As we see them (...)
They live more truly in our delight
Than in their forms.

The beauty they had was never lost,
It moved away
From the present hour and the form once tossed
Into space and day.

But the undying essence of the (...)

The rose that faded from yesterday
Is where yesterday is.
I shall have again the flower and the day,
The self and the bliss.

Trincaste, para o partir,
O retrós de costurar.
Quem não soubesse diria
Que o estavas a beijar.