Rima VI. Como la brisa que la sangre orea...
Como la brisa que la sangre orea
sobre el oscuro campo de batalla,
cargada de perfumes y armonías
en el silencio de la noche vaga;
símbolo del dolor y la ternura,
del bardo inglés en el horrible drama,
la dulce Ofelia, la razón perdida,
cogiendo flores y cantando pasa.
Rhyme VI. Like the breeze that the blood borders...
Like the breeze that the blood borders
over the darkened field of battle,
charged with perfumes and harmonies
in the silence of the wandering night,
symbol of pain and tenderness,
from the english Bard in the horrible drama,
the sweet Ophelia, lost to reason,
gathering flowers and passes, singing.
RHYME VI. LIKE A FRESH BREEZE...
ResponderEliminarLike a fresh breeze that dispels
a dark battlefield's bloody smells,
laden with harmonies and incense
in the vague night's silence;
symbol of tenderness and pain,
through the English bard's horrible play,
moves sweet Ophelia, reason devoured
singing songs and picking flowers.
translated by Howard A. Landman
RHYME VI. LIKE THE BREEZE THAT DRIES THE BLOOD...
ResponderEliminarLike the breeze that dries the blood
Upon the darkening battle-field,
Laden with perfumes and sweet sounds,
In the vague silence of the night;
Symbol of tenderness and grief,
The English bard in awful verse
The sweet Ophelia paints, who, mad,
Passes with flowers and with song.
Translated by Owen Innsly
RHYME VI. AS WANDERS O'ER A DARKENED FIELD...
ResponderEliminarAs wanders o'er a darkened field of blood,
Refreshing to the sense, a gentle breeze
In night and silence, with a grateful flood
Of perfumes fraught and pleasing harmonies,
So we may see the sweet Ophelia pass
Within the British poet's awful play,
Symbolical of grief and tenderness,
With songs and strewing flowers on her way.
Translated by Jules Renard
RHYME VI. LIKE TO THE BREEZE THAT TOUCHES BLOOD...
ResponderEliminarLike to the breeze that touches blood
Upon the somber field of fray
And through the silences of night
Both harmonies and fragrance sows;
Symbol of pain and tenderness -
In the English bard's direful play
Sweet Ophelia, bereft of reason,
Singing and strewing blossoms goes.
Translated by Young Allison