« AnteriorContinuar »
THERE'S something in a flying horse,
Whose shape is like the crescent-moon.
And now I have a little Boat,
In shape a very crescent-moon :
Fast through the clouds my Boat can sail;
The woods, my Friends, are round you roaring,
The noise of danger fills your ears,
Meanwhile I from the helm admire
Away we go, my Boat and I—
Away we go and what care we
Up goes my Boat among the stars Through many a breathless field of light, Through many a long blue field of ether, Leaving ten thousand stars beneath her, Up goes my little Boat so bright!
We pry among them all
High o'er the red-haired race of Mars
the Scorpion- and the Bull
The towns in Saturn are ill-built,
But proud let him be who has seen them;
Each other in the vast abyss,
Swift Mercury resounds with mirth,
Then back to Earth, the dear green Earth;
And there it is, the matchless earth!
There spreads the famed Pacific Ocean!
Through the grey clouds — the Alps are here, Like waters in commotion!
Yon tawny slip is Lybia's sands
That silver thread the river Dnieper
And look, where clothed in brightest green
Is a sweet Isle, of isles the queen;
Ye fairies from all evil keep her!
And see the town where I was born!
Never did fifty things at once
Appear so lovely, never, never,
How tunefully the forests ring
Thus could I hang for ever!