7 de Abril 1770
William Wordsworth
William Wordsworth
(m. 1850)
"Lines Written in Early Spring"
I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.
Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.
The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure: --
But the least motion which they made,
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.
The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.
If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?
A percepção deste poema de Wordsworth - que pertinente conclusão e interrogação final!... - há muito que se me impõe articulada com a Sonata para Violino No. 3 em Mi bemol, op. 12. E não é que esta peça de Beethoven e o poema são contemporâneos, exactamente do mesmo ano de 1798? Aqui têm o primeiro andamento, Allegro con spirito, numa soberba interpretação de Gidon Kremer e Martha Argerich.
http://youtu.be/7smoJPVKCUY
"Lines Written in Early Spring"
I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.
Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.
The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure: --
But the least motion which they made,
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.
The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.
If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?
A percepção deste poema de Wordsworth - que pertinente conclusão e interrogação final!... - há muito que se me impõe articulada com a Sonata para Violino No. 3 em Mi bemol, op. 12. E não é que esta peça de Beethoven e o poema são contemporâneos, exactamente do mesmo ano de 1798? Aqui têm o primeiro andamento, Allegro con spirito, numa soberba interpretação de Gidon Kremer e Martha Argerich.
http://youtu.be/7smoJPVKCUY
Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário