THE SPRINGLET
by: José Zorilla
 ASTING 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?
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This English translation by Thomas
Walsh of 'The Springlet' is reprinted from Hispanic Anthology:
Poems Translated from the Spanish by English and North American
Poets. Ed. Thomas Walsh. New York: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1920. |
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POEMS BY JOSÉ ZORILLA |
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