This I Dreamed

 

The walker is the total of the way,

and in the garden, by the tranquil sea,

scents of the hills go with him constantly,

in pleasant fields dry heat of lofted hay;

 

who on a pilgrimage of many a day

put hard brakes on his heart’s garrulity

to wait for adamantine poetry

his soul was ripening, hidden deep away.

 

This I dreamed. And that killer time whose flow

takes us to death or leaves things much the same

was just a dream that Adam’s children share.

 

I saw then that a man whose hand was bare

showed to the world life’s coal he held aglow,

free of ash the Heraclitean flame.

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Esto soñé

 

Que el caminante es suma del camino,

y en el jardín, junto del mar sereno,

le acompaña el aroma montesino,

ardor de seco henil en campo ameno;

 

que de luenga jornada peregrino

ponía al corazón un duro freno,

para aguardar el verso adamantino

que maduraba el alma en su hondo seno.

 

Esto soñé. Y del tiempo, el homicida,

que nos lleva a la muerte o fluye en vano,

que era un sueño no más del adanida.

 

Y un hombre vi que en la desnuda mano

mostraba al mundo el ascua de la vida,

sin cenizas el fuego heraclitano.