|
Of his
redoubtable grace
The shine scarce veiling at all,
An angel upon my table places
Fresh-baked bread, milk in a bowl;
He gives with his eyelids there
The sign of a prayer
That speaks to my vision:
—Calm, calm, keep you calm!
Know the weight of a palm
Portering its profusion!
However it tilt
In abundance of goods,
Its figure's fulfilled,
Stayed by heavy fruits.
Admire how it vibr-
Ates, and like a slow fiber
Dividing the moment,
Unmysterious adjudicature
Of earth's allure
And the weight of the firmament!
Beautiful and mobile it arbitrates
Between shadow and sun,
Of a sibyl simulates
The sleep and the wisdom.
Around one same place
The ample palm never wearies
Of farewells nor pleas...
How noble it is, how tender!
How worthy to await the hand a-
Lone of the gods it is!
The thin gold of its murmur
The air's mere fingers toll,
And lades with a silken armor
The desert's soul.
An imperishable voice,
Given to the sandy breeze
That waters it grain by grain,
Itself serves as oracle,
And boasts the miracle
That's self-sung to pain.
While it is unaware
Between sand and sky,
Every day that shines fair
Makes a little honey.
Its sweetness's measuration
Is the divine duration
That doesn't count the time,
But all-dissimulates
In juice that accumulates
Love's entire aroma.
If one at times despairing shirks,
If the adorable rigor
Despite your tears only works
In darkness of languor,
Do not accuse of being greedy
A Sage who makes ready
So much gold and authority:
In the solemn sap
An eternal hope
Rises toward maturity!
These days that seem void
And lost for the universe
Have roots avid
To work the deserts.
The bearded substance
In gloominess chosen
Cannot ever cease
Unto the earth's heart,
Seeking deep water
Asked for by peaks.
Patience, patience,
Patience in the blue!
Each atom of silence
Is the chance of one ripe fruit!
Comes the happy surprise:
A dove, the breeze,
Upsetment the most sweet,
A woman who leans,
Will bring those rains
That fling us to our knees!
Let now a people crumble,
Palm!... without resistance!
In the dust let them tumble
On the fruit of the firmament!
You have not these hours lost,
If lightly you persist
After those fine abandonments;
Like him who thinks
And whose soul swinks
To grow from its endowments!
|