sábado, 29 de outubro de 2011


Strive not to wake the dead;
the incomparable host
with Helen and Achilles

are not dead, not lost;
the isles are fair (nor far),
Paphos, the Cyclades;

a simple spiral-shell may tell
a tale more ancient
than these mysteries;

dare the uncharted seas,
Achilles waits, and life;
beyond these pylons and these gates,

is magic of the wind, the gale;
the mystery of a forest-tree,
whispering its secrets upon Cithaeron,

holds subtler meaning
than this written stone
or leaves of the papyrus;

let rapture summon
and the foam-flecked sand,
and wind and hail,

rain, sleet and the bewildering snow
that lifts and falls,
conceals, reveals,

(the actual
and the apparent veil),
Helen - come home.

H.D., Helen in Egypt, New Directions, s.d. (1961, 1ªed.)

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