Parabolanoi

No existe la muerte

¡No existe la muerte! Nuestras estrellas caen

para elevarse sobre una costa más bella en algún otro lugar;

Y centelleantes en la enjoyada corona del cielo

brillan por siempre jamás.

¡No existe la muerte! El polvo que hollamos

Cambiará bajo los chubascos del verano

convirtiéndose en grano o dulce fruta,

o en flores con los colores del arco iris.

Las rocas de granito se convierten en polvo,

y alimentan al hambriento musgo que los cubre.

Las hojas más bellas beben la vida diaria

del aire invisible.

¡No existe la muerte! Puede que las hojas se caigan,

que las flores se marchiten y mueran.

Durante las horas invernales están a la espera

de la llegada de Mayo.

Y, muy cerca de nosotros, si bien no lo vemos

se mueven los bellos espíritus inmortales,

ya que todo el universo ilimitado

es vida; ¡no existe la muerte!

J. L. McCreery

Traducción de Jorge A. Carrizo

VI. Consolation

There is no death

THERE is no death! the stars go down

  To rise upon some other shore,

And bright in heaven’s jewelled crown

  They shine forever more.

There is no death! the forest leaves         5

  Convert to life the viewless air;

The rocks disorganize to feed

  The hungry moss they bear.

There is no death! the dust we tread

  Shall change, beneath the summer showers,         10

To golden grain, or mellow fruit,

  Or rainbow-tinted flowers.

There is no death! the leaves may fall,

  The flowers may fade and pass away—

They only wait, through wintry hours,         15

  The warm sweet breath of May.

There is no death! the choicest gifts

  That heaven hath kindly lent to earth

Are ever first to seek again

  The country of their birth.         20

And all things that for growth of joy

  Are worthy of our love or care,

Whose loss has left us desolate,

  Are safely garnered there.

Though life become a dreary waste,         25

  We know its fairest, sweetest flowers,

Transplanted into paradise,

  Adorn immortal bowers.

The voice of bird-like melody

  That we have missed and mourned so long         30

Now mingles with the angel choir

  In everlasting song.

There is no death! although we grieve

  When beautiful, familiar forms

That we have learned to love are torn         35

  From our embracing arms;

Although with bowed and breaking heart,

  With sable garb and silent tread,

We bear their senseless dust to rest,

  And say that they are “dead.”         40

They are not dead! they have but passed

  Beyond the mists that blind us here

Into the new and larger life

  Of that serener sphere.

They have but dropped their robe of clay         45

  To put their shining raiment on;

They have not wandered far away—

  They are not “lost” or “gone.”

Though disenthralled and glorified,

  They still are here and love us yet;         50

The dear ones they have left behind

  They never can forget.

And sometimes, when our hearts grow faint

  Amid temptations fierce and deep,

Or when the wildly raging waves         55

  Of grief or passion sweep,

We feel upon our fevered brow

  Their gentle touch, their breath of balm;

Their arms enfold us, and our hearts

  Grow comforted and calm.         60

And ever near us, though unseen,

  The dear, immortal spirits tread;

For all the boundless universe

  Is life—there are no dead.

J. L. McCreery