Move him into the sun –
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields half-sown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rose him now
The kind old sun will know.
Think how it wakes the seeds –
Woke once the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear achieved, are sides
Full-nerved, still warm, too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
– O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth’s sleep at all?
Arrossegau-lo
cap al sol –
A casa
el despertava abans gentil,
parlant-li
fluix dels camps a mig sembrar.
El
despertava sempre, a França i tot,
fins
avui de matí i aquesta neu.
Si hi
hagués res que el fes llevar just ara
segur
que el bon sol ho sabria.
Així com
desperta llavors
d’un
estel apagat dreçà l’argila.
I
aquests membres preuats, els costats tebis,
plens de
nervis, no sap com despertar-los?
És per
això que el fang hagué de créixer?
–Què féu
que els raigs de sol porfidiassin
per
treure la terra del son?
