It seemed that out of battle I escaped
Down some profound tunnel, long since scooped
Through granites which titanic wars had
groined.
Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,
Too fast in thought or dead to be bestirred.
Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and
stared
With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,
Lifting distressful hands, as if to bless.
And no guns thumped, or down the flues made
moan.
‘Strange friend’, I said, ‘here is no cause to
mourn’.
Sembla
que vaig fugir de la batalla
i vaig
baixar per dins un túnel llarg,
buidat
de guerra en guerra per titans.
També
aquí grunyien els dorments,
morts o
massa distrets per aixecar-se.
Llavors,
en observar-los, un s’alçà
i em
mirà pietós amb els ulls fixos,
les mans
cansades, com si em beneïssin.
No
sentírem fusells ni el plany de cap canó.
‘Estrany
amic’, vaig dir, ‘no hi ha lloc per al dol’.
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