Dylan Thomas

Această pâine ce’o rup a fost odată ovăz Acest vin într’un trunchi îndepărtat Pulsa, în fructele sale In zi, omul si vântul în noapte Au doborât

Mi’am visat nașterea în sudoarea somnului, pătrunzând Prin cochilia ce se rotește puternic, Ca un mușchi director al unui burghiu, ducând Prin

O străină veni Să împartă cu mine odaia, neîntreagă la minte O fată nebună ca păsările Zăvorând noaptea porții cu brațul cu

Trezindu-se singură într-o multitudine de iubiri, când lumina dimineții Surprindea în deschiderea ochilor ei lungi de o

And death shall have no dominion. Dead men naked they shall be one With the man in the wind and the west moon; When their bones are picked clean and

Never until the mankind making Bird beast and flower Fathering and all humbling darkness Tells with silence the last light breaking And the

La forza che nella verde miccia spinge il fiore spinge i miei verdi anni; quella che fa scoppiare le radici degli alberi è la mia distruttrice. E

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men

Now Say nay, Man dry man, Dry lover mine The deadrock base and blow the flowered anchor, Should he, for centre sake, hop in the dust, Forsake,

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green, The night above the dingle

It was my thirtieth year to heaven Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood And the mussel pooled and the heron Priested shore The

A stranger has come To share my room in the house not right in the head, A girl mad as birds Bolting the night of the door with her arm her

On almost the incendiary eve Of several near deaths, When one at the great least of your best loved And always known must leave Lions and

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees Is my destroyer. And I am dumb to

My tears are like the quiet drift Of petals from some magic rose; And all my grief flows from the rift Of unremembered skies and snows. I

Before I knocked and flesh let enter, With liquid hands tapped on the womb, I who was as shapeless as the water That shaped the Jordan near my

A process in the weather of the heart Turns damp to dry; the golden shot Storms in the freezing tomb. A weather in the quarter of the veins Turns

Qui in primavera,le stelle navigano il vuoto; Qui nell\'inverno ornamentale Il nudo cielo viene giu\' a rovesci ; L\'estate seppellisce l\'uccello

Light breaks where no sun shines; Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart Push in their tides; And, broken ghosts with glow-worms in their

Where once the waters of your face Spun to my screws, your dry ghost blows, The dead turns up its eye; Where once the mermen through your

In my craft or sullen art Exercised in the still night When only the moon rages And the lovers lie abed With all their griefs in their arms,

From love’s first fever to her plague, from the soft second And the hollow minute of the womb, From the unfolding to the scissored caul, The time

Then was my neophyte, Child in white blood bent on its knees Under the bell of rocks, Ducked in the twelve, disciple seas The winder of the

My hero bares his nerves along my wrist That rules from wrist to shoulder, Unpacks the head that, like a sleepy ghost, Leans on my mortal

I All all and all the dry worlds lever, Stage of the ice, the solid ocean, All from the oil, the pound of lava. City of spring, the governed

And death shall have no dominion. Dead men naked they shall be one With the man in the wind and the west moon; When their bones are picked

Light breaks where no sun shines; Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart Push in their tides; And, broken ghosts with glow-worms in their

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men