terça-feira, 29 de março de 2022

Meditações - Time and the Garden

Time and the Garden


The spring has darkened with activity.

The future gathers in vine, bush, and tree:

Persimmon, walnut, loquat, fig, and grape,

Degrees and kinds of color, taste, and shape.

These will advance in their due series, space

The season like a tranquil dwelling-place.

And yet excitement swells me, vein by vein:

I long to crowd the little garden, gain

Its sweetness in my hand and crush it small

And taste it in a moment, time and all!

These trees, whose slow growth measures off my years,

I would expand to greatness. No one hears,

And I am still retarded in duress!

And this is like that other restlessness

To seize the greatness not yet fairly earned,

One which the tougher poets have discerned—

Gascoigne, Ben Jonson, Greville, Raleigh, Donne,

Poets who wrote great poems, one by one,

And spaced by many years, each line an act

Through which few labor, which no men retract.

This passion is the scholar’s heritage,

The imposition of a busy age,

The passion to condense from book to book

Unbroken wisdom in a single look,

Though we know well that when this fix the head,

The mind’s immortal, but the man is dead.


Yvor Winters

Sem comentários:

Enviar um comentário