Poesia kaiera
CXXIX
Noiz ukatu dut nik, nahiz eta iheskorra izan,
Hau maitasuna zela? Noiz, diot, ausartu da
Egunen begia hiltzen nire burdin erpurua
Lur hotz honetan, non karitatea kexuz datzan
Inoren agur barik, ezten baten azpian,
Eta maitatzearen kriseilu zirpildua,
Enkontru latzenaren, klandestinoenaren printza urratua
Dituen argi bakar doalarik bidean?
Jauna lekuko, santu, santua, diot oihuka,
Izan bedi maitasuna, zein ere den laburra,
Haren metxa gurako, txarto moztuaren faltaz
Ibili naiz behin baino sarriago geldika
Iluntasun beltzean makilaz jotzen lurra,
Airez aire dabiltzan orbelen aurka lehiaz.
CXXIX
When did I ever deny, though this was fleeting, / That this was love? When did I ever, I say, / With iron thumb put out the eyes of day / In this cold world where charity lies bleating / Under a thorn, and none to give him greeting, / And all that lights endeavour on its way / Is the teased lamp of loving, the torn ray / Of the least kind, the most clandestine meeting? / As God’s my judge, I do cry holy, holy, / Upon the name of love however brief, / For want of whose ill-trimmed, aspiring wick / More days than one I have gone forward slowly / In utter dark, scuffling the drifted leaf, / Tapping the road before me with a stick.