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Textos
de William Morris
April
&
The
Eve of Crecy
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April.
O
fair mid-spring, besung so oft and oft,
How can I praise thy loveliness enow?
Thy sun that burns not, and thy breezes soft
That o'er the blossoms of the orchard blow,
The thousand things that 'neath
the young leaves grow,
The hopes and chances of the growing year,
Winter forgotten long, and summer near.
When
summer brings the lily and the rose,
She brings us fear -her very death she brings
Hid in her anxious heart, the
forge of woes;
And, dull with fear, no more the mavis sings.
But thou! thou diest not, but thy fresh life clings
About the fainting autumn's
sweet decay,
When in the earth the hopeful
seed they lay.
Ah!
life of all the year, why yet do I,
Amid thy snowy blossoms' fragrant drift,
Still long for that which
never draweth nigh,
Striving my pleasure from my pain to sift,
Some weight from off my fluttering mirth to lift?
- Now, when far bells are ringing "Come again,
Come back, past years! why will ye pass in vain?
The
Eve of Crecy
Gold on her head, and gold on
her feet,
And gold where the hems of her kirtle meet,
And a golden girdle round my sweet, -
Ah! qu'elle est belle la Marguerite!
Margaret's
maids are fair to see,
Freshly dressed and pleasantly;
Margaret's hair falls down to
her knee;
Ah! qu'elle est belle la Marguerite!
If
I were rich I would kiss her feet,
I would kiss the place where
the gold hems meet,
And the golden girdle round my sweet, -
Ah! qu'elle est belle la Marguerite!
Ah
me! I have never touched her hand.
When the arriere-ban goes
through the land
Six basnets under my pennon
stand;
Ah! qu'elle est belle la Marguerite!
And
many an one grins under his hood:
"Sir Lambert de Bois, with all his men good,
Has neither food nor firewood!" -
Ah! qu'elle est belle la Marguerite!
If
I were rich I would kiss her feet,
And the golden girdle of my sweet,
And thereabouts where the gold hems meet, -
Ah! qu'elle est belle la Marguerite!
Yet
even now it is good to think,
While my few poor varlets
grumble and drink,
In my desolate hall where the fires sink, -
Ah! qu'elle est belle la Marguerite!
Of
Margaret sitting glorious there
In glory of gold and glory of hair,
And glory of glorious face most fair; -
Ah! qu'elle est belle la Marguerite!
Likewise
tonight I make good cheer
Because this battle draweth near;
For what have I to lose or fear? -
Ah! qu'elle est belle la Marguerite!
For,
look you, my horse is good to prance
A right fair measure in this war-dance,
Before the eyes of Philip of France, -
Ah! qu'elle est belle la Marguerite!
And
some time it may hap, perdie,
While my new towers stand up
three and three,
And my hall gets painted fair to see, -
Ah! qu'elle est belle la Marguerite!
That
folks may say: "Times change, by the rood!
For Lambert, banneret of the
wood,
Has heaps of food and firewood, -
Ah! qu'elle est belle la Marguerite!
"And
wonderful eyes too, under the hood
Of a damsel of right noble blood;
St Ives for Lambert of the
Wood!" -
Ah! qu'elle est belle la Marguerite!
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