"Como Sombras de Nuvens que Passam" (Canto XI) by José Thiesen (in Portuguese)

   Passara o temporal, mas ainda soprava um vento forte quando houve um apagão; por isso Mamma Rosa acendeu uma vela em meu quarto.
   Estava a despir a camisa quando ouvi um leve sussurrar na janela. Sorri a me lembrar dO Corvo e fui ver quem era.
   - Sou eu! Abra!
   Reconheci a voz de Berto. Abri a janela e ele entrou por ela com um pulo.
   - Se me pegam aqui, me matam!
   Voltei a vestir a camisa.
   Passou a mão por seus cabelos e disse: Quem  sou eu? Um bruto cheirando a terra e estrume de cavalo, o sr. sabe. Trabalho nessas terras desde que nasci e esse é o mundo que conheço. Não sou instruido nem pra explicar qualquer coisa. Olhe pra mim! sou desajeitado e digo blasfêmias e o sr. é tão educado e...
    Eu me sentei na cama e o puxei pra junto de mim. Berto não tirava os olhos de seus sapatos sujos.
    - Só queria dizer que... desde que o vi eu... não sei o que houve comigo, com meu coração que estremeceu e caiu no chão e... eu podia, talvez devesse ficar quieto, mas...
    - As flores que amanhecem na minha janela...
    - ...são minhas, sim, com meus suspiros.
    Ele estava rubro. Levantou-se e disse:
    - Eu tinha que dizer-lhe, desculpe. Agora preciso ir...
    E tornou para a janela, mas antes que a alcançasse, puxei-o para mim e um vento entrando pela ventana apagou o lume.

"Amor Intellectualis" by Oscar Wilde (in English)

OFT have we trod the vales of Castaly

And heard sweet notes of sylvan music blown

From antique reeds to common folk unknown:

And often launched our bark upon that sea

Which the nine Muses hold in empery,

And ploughed free furrows through the wave and foam,

Nor spread reluctant sail for more safe home

Till we had freighted well our argosy.

Of which despoilèd treasures these remain,

Sordello's passion, and the honied line

Of young Endymion, lordly Tamburlaine

Driving his pampered jades, and more than these,

The seven-fold vision of the Florentine,

And grave-browed Milton's solemn harmonies.

"Night Coming Into A Garden" by Lord Alfred Douglas (in English)

Roses red and white,

Every rose is hanging her head,

Silently comes the lady Night,

Only the flowers can hear her tread.

All day long the birds have been calling,

Calling shrill and sweet,

They are still when she comes with her long robe falling

Falling down to her feet.

The thrush has sung to his mate,

' She is coming ! hush ! she is coming ! '

She is lifting the latch at the gate,

And the bees have ceased from their humming.

I cannot see her face as she passes

Through my garden of white and red ;

But I know she has walked where the daisies and grasses

Are curtseying after her tread.

She has passed me by with a rustle and sweep

Of her robe (as she passed I heard it sweeping),

And all my red roses have fallen asleep,

And all my white roses are sleeping.

"While Death Waits" by Unknown Writer (in English)

art by Gene Colan – Marvel Tales Vol 1 131  – Marvel, Feb. 1955.

"The Hunting Of The Snark an Agony in Eight Fits" by Lewis Carroll (Fit the Fourth) (in English)

Fit the fourt

THE HUNTING

     The Bellman looked uffish, and wrinkled his brow.

          "If only you'd spoken before!

     It's excessively awkward to mention it now,

          With the Snark, so to speak, at the door!

     "We should all of us grieve, as you well may believe,

          If you never were met with again—

     But surely, my man, when the voyage began,

          You might have suggested it then?

     "It's excessively awkward to mention it now—

          As I think I've already remarked."

     And the man they called "Hi!" replied, with a sigh,

          "I informed you the day we embarked.

     "You may charge me with murder—or want of sense—

          (We are all of us weak at times):

     But the slightest approach to a false pretence

          Was never among my crimes!

     "I said it in Hebrew—I said it in Dutch—

          I said it in German and Greek:

     But I wholly forgot (and it vexes me much)

          That English is what you speak!"

     "'Tis a pitiful tale," said the Bellman, whose face

          Had grown longer at every word:

     "But, now that you've stated the whole of your case,

          More debate would be simply absurd.

     "The rest of my speech" (he explained to his men)

          "You shall hear when I've leisure to speak it.

     But the Snark is at hand, let me tell you again!

          'Tis your glorious duty to seek it!

     "To seek it with thimbles, to seek it with care;

          To pursue it with forks and hope;

     To threaten its life with a railway-share;

          To charm it with smiles and soap!

     "For the Snark's a peculiar creature, that won't

          Be caught in a commonplace way.

     Do all that you know, and try all that you don't:

          Not a chance must be wasted to-day!

     "For England expects—I forbear to proceed:

          'Tis a maxim tremendous, but trite:

     And you'd best be unpacking the things that you need

          To rig yourselves out for the fight."

     Then the Banker endorsed a blank cheque (which he crossed),

          And changed his loose silver for notes.

     The Baker with care combed his whiskers and hair,

          And shook the dust out of his coats.

     The Boots and the Broker were sharpening a spade—

          Each working the grindstone in turn:

     But the Beaver went on making lace, and displayed

          No interest in the concern:

     Though the Barrister tried to appeal to its pride,

          And vainly proceeded to cite

     A number of cases, in which making laces

          Had been proved an infringement of right.

     The maker of Bonnets ferociously planned

          A novel arrangement of bows:

     While the Billiard-marker with quivering hand

          Was chalking the tip of his nose.

     But the Butcher turned nervous, and dressed himself fine,

          With yellow kid gloves and a ruff—

     Said he felt it exactly like going to dine,

          Which the Bellman declared was all "stuff."

     "Introduce me, now there's a good fellow," he said,

          "If we happen to meet it together!"

     And the Bellman, sagaciously nodding his head,

          Said "That must depend on the weather."

     The Beaver went simply galumphing about,

          At seeing the Butcher so shy:

     And even the Baker, though stupid and stout,

          Made an effort to wink with one eye.

     "Be a man!" said the Bellman in wrath, as he heard

          The Butcher beginning to sob.

     "Should we meet with a Jubjub, that desperate bird,

          We shall need all our strength for the job!"

"The Hunting Of The Snark an Agony in Eight Fits" by Lewis Carroll (Fit the Third) (in English)

  

Fit the Third

THE BAKER'S TALE

     They roused him with muffins—they roused him with ice—

          They roused him with mustard and cress—

     They roused him with jam and judicious advice—

          They set him conundrums to guess.

     When at length he sat up and was able to speak,

          His sad story he offered to tell;

     And the Bellman cried "Silence!  Not even a shriek!"

          And excitedly tingled his bell.

     There was silence supreme!  Not a shriek, not a scream,

          Scarcely even a howl or a groan,

     As the man they called "Ho!" told his story of woe

          In an antediluvian tone.

     "My father and mother were honest, though poor—"

          "Skip all that!" cried the Bellman in haste.

     "If it once becomes dark, there's no chance of a Snark—

          We have hardly a minute to waste!"

     "I skip forty years," said the Baker, in tears,

          "And proceed without further remark

     To the day when you took me aboard of your ship

          To help you in hunting the Snark.

     "A dear uncle of mine (after whom I was named)

          Remarked, when I bade him farewell—"

     "Oh, skip your dear uncle!" the Bellman exclaimed,

          As he angrily tingled his bell.

     "He remarked to me then," said that mildest of men,

          "'If your Snark be a Snark, that is right:

     Fetch it home by all means—you may serve it with greens,

          And it's handy for striking a light.

     "'You may seek it with thimbles—and seek it with care;

          You may hunt it with forks and hope;

     You may threaten its life with a railway-share;

          You may charm it with smiles and soap—'"

     ("That's exactly the method," the Bellman bold

          In a hasty parenthesis cried,

     "That's exactly the way I have always been told

          That the capture of Snarks should be tried!")

     "'But oh, beamish nephew, beware of the day,

          If your Snark be a Boojum!  For then

     You will softly and suddenly vanish away,

          And never be met with again!'

     "It is this, it is this that oppresses my soul,

          When I think of my uncle's last words:

     And my heart is like nothing so much as a bowl

          Brimming over with quivering curds!

     "It is this, it is this—" "We have had that before!"

          The Bellman indignantly said.

     And the Baker replied "Let me say it once more.

          It is this, it is this that I dread!

     "I engage with the Snark—every night after dark—

          In a dreamy delirious fight:

     I serve it with greens in those shadowy scenes,

          And I use it for striking a light:

     "But if ever I meet with a Boojum, that day,

          In a moment (of this I am sure),

     I shall softly and suddenly vanish away—

          And the notion I cannot endure!"

"Ecclesiastes" (Chapter I) by Qoheleth (in English)

1 The words of David's son, Qoheleth, king in Jerusalem: 2 Vanity of vanities, says Qoheleth, vanity of vanities! All things are vanity! 3 What profit has man from all the labor which he toils at under the sun?

4 One generation passes and another comes, but the world forever stays. 5 The sun rises and the sun goes down; then it presses on to the place where it rises. 6 Blowing now toward the south, then toward the north, the wind turns again and again, resuming its rounds. 7 All rivers go to the sea, yet never does the sea become full. To the place where they go, the rivers keep on going. 8 All speech is labored; there is nothing man can say. The eye is not satisfied with seeing nor is the ear filled with hearing. 9 What has been, that will be; what has been done, that will be done. Nothing is new under the sun. 10 Even the thing of which we say, "See, this is new!" has already existed in the ages that preceded us. 11 There is no remembrance of the men of old; nor of those to come will there be any remembrance among those who come after them.

12 I, Qoheleth, was king over Israel in Jerusalem, 13 and I applied my mind to search and investigate in wisdom all things that are done under the sun. A thankless task God has appointed for men to be busied about. 14 I have seen all things that are done under the sun, and behold, all is vanity and a chase after wind.

15 What is crooked cannot be made straight,

and what is missing cannot be supplied.

16 Though I said to myself, "Behold, I have become great and stored up wisdom beyond all who were before me in Jerusalem, and my mind has broad experience of wisdom and knowledge"; 17 yet when I applied my mind to know wisdom and knowledge, madness and folly, I learned that this also is a chase after wind.

18 For in much wisdom there is much sorrow,

and he who stores up knowledge stores up grief.