Oh tu

'O thou whose face hath felt the Winter’s wind,
Whose eye has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist
And the black elm-tops ‘mong the freezing stars,
To thee the spring will be a harvest-time.

O thou, whose only book has been the light
Of supreme darkness which thou feddest on
Night after night when Phoebus was away,
To thee the Spring shall be a triple morn.

O fret not after knowledge- I have none,
And yet my song comes native with the warmth.
O fret not after knowledge- I have none,

And yet the Evening listens. He who saddens
At thought of idleness cannot be idle,
And he’s awake who thinks himself asleep'



Oh tu, que has sentit el vent de l'hivern al rostre,
que has vist els núvols de neu voltats de boira,
i la negra brancada dels oms entre les estrelles glaçades,
per a tu la primavera serà temps de collita.

Oh tu, que has tingut un sol llibre i una sola llum,
la foscor suprema que et nodria
nit rere nit, quena Febus no hi era,
per a tu l aprimavera serà triple albada.

Ai, no t'amoïnis per saber ... jo no sé res,
i malgrat tot la meva cançó neix espontània de la passió.

Ai, no t'amoïnis per saber ... jo no sé res.
i malgrat tot la tada m'escolta. Qui s'entristeix
quan pensa en el reòs, no descansarà mai,
i esdespert qui es creu que dorm.

John Keats