José Zorilla: The Springlet

HASTING on, the springlet flows,
Licking up its dark brown bed;
More and more its crystal grows
As its course is sped.
Stirs the grasses, moists the sand,
Plays a thousand tricks a day;
Wave on wave its face is fanned
With laughter light and gay.
Couch of down it lends the vale;
Cool its fan the birch-trees find;
Reeds its quiet pathway trail
To rest and shade resigned.
Bursts it on the open sky!
What was all its running for,
If beneath the cliff it die
Engulfed forevermore?

Translation by Thomas Walsh.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: