Leitura Matinal -49

Não querendo dos Românticos herdar qualquer
derrotismo, mas com eles me fundindo na comunhão
de afectos, partilho a devoção que por esta Dama
William Wordsworth exprimiu, com sentimento e,
felizmente, sem lamechice, graças em grande parte
ao salvífico final do reconhecimento cíclico, em

TRADITION

A love-lorn Maid, at some far-distant time,
Came to this hidden pool, whose dephts surpass
In crystal clearness Dian´s looking-glass;
And, gazing, saw that Rose, which from the prime
Derives its name, reflected as the chime
Of echo doth reverberate some sweet sound:
The starry treasure from the blue profound
She longed to ravish; - shall she plunge or climb
The humid precipice, and seize the guest
Of April, smiling high in upper air?
Desperate alternative! What fiend could dare
To prompt the thought? - Upon the steep rock´s breast
The lonely Primrose yet renews its bloom,
Utouched memento of her hapless doom!