quinta-feira, 3 de janeiro de 2013

O poema mais lindo do mundo, I


You knock
Without knowing that you knocked.
The door opens on a century of clouds and centuries
Of centuries of clouds.
The bird sings among the toyons in the spring’s diligence of rain.
And then what? Hand on your heart.
Would you die for spring? What would you die for?
Anything?

Robert Hass, in "Berkeley Eclogue". 

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