Palatul bantuit - Edgar Allan Poe

 Adăugat de: Gerra Orivera

In cea mai verde vale-a noastra
Doar de ingerii buni locuita.
Odata un clar, majestuos palat
Fruntea isi inalta fericita.
Despot era monarhul Gandire,
In tara unde se ridica!
Nicaieri seraf pe mai mandra cladire
Aripa subtire nu-si arunca!

Galbene baniere, glorioase, de aur,

Pe fruntea lui mereu falfaiau,
(Aceste toate, toate acestea,
Cu mult timp inapoi se-ntamplau)
Si orice usoara boare care
In dulcea zi se juca
Pe meterezele-mpodobite si pale,
Pe aripi de miresme pleca.

Calatorii din fericita vale,

Prin doua ferestre luminoase, vedeau
Spirite dantuind subt portale
Int actul lautei de care-ascultau,
In preajma tronului unde, marit,
(O! Porfirogenet!)
Regele, in fastul slavei lui cuvenit,
Sta la al gloriei banchet.

Scanteia in perle si in rubine

Poarta acelui maret palat,
Prin care in valuri usoare, senine,
Zbura necurmat
Un stol de ecouri, cu dulcea menire
Doar sa cante usor,
Cu voci de-o frumusete peste fire,
Intelepciunea regelui lor.

Dar fiintele diavolilor, in rochii de doliu,

Cotropira al regelui rang inaltat.
(Ah, sa fim tristi! caci niciodata
N-o mai fi maine, pentru acest dezolat!)
Si, imprejurul casei lui, gloria
Care in purpura inflori,
Prin negura doar, o zareste istoria
Trecutului timp care muri.

Acum, calatorii prin asta vale

Vad, prin ferestre rosii de sange ,
Forme fantastice, care pe dale
Sar, dupa un zgomot care se frange.
Si ca un rau, fantomatic, grabit,
Prin usa palida se ingramadeste
O gloata hidoasa care se naruie
Si rade, dar nu mai zambeste.
The Haunted Palace

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

In the greenest of our valleys

By good angels tenanted,

Once a fair and stately palace—

Radiant palace—reared its head.

In the monarch Thought’s dominion,

It stood there!

Never seraph spread a pinion

Over fabric half so fair!

Banners yellow, glorious, golden,

On its roof did float and flow

(This—all this—was in the olden

Time long ago)

And every gentle air that dallied,

In that sweet day,

Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,

A wingèd odor went away.

Wanderers in that happy valley,

Through two luminous windows, saw

Spirits moving musically

To a lute’s well-tunèd law,

Round about a throne where, sitting,

Porphyrogene!

In state his glory well befitting,

The ruler of the realm was seen.

And all with pearl and ruby glowing

Was the fair palace door,

Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing

And sparkling evermore,

A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty

Was but to sing,

In voices of surpassing beauty,

The wit and wisdom of their king.

But evil things, in robes of sorrow,

Assailed the monarch’s high estate;

(Ah, let us mourn!—for never morrow

Shall dawn upon him, desolate!)

And round about his home the glory

That blushed and bloomed

Is but a dim-remembered story

Of the old time entombed.

And travellers, now, within that valley,

Through the red-litten windows see

Vast forms that move fantastically

To a discordant melody;

While, like a ghastly rapid river,

Through the pale door

A hideous throng rush out forever,

And laugh—but smile no more.