{"id":2234,"date":"2021-06-16T13:22:03","date_gmt":"2021-06-16T12:22:03","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.ieshuelin.com\/huelinenglish\/?p=2234"},"modified":"2022-09-14T08:51:26","modified_gmt":"2022-09-14T07:51:26","slug":"ode-on-a-nightingale-oda-a-un-ruisenor","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.ieshuelin.com\/huelinenglish\/ode-on-a-nightingale-oda-a-un-ruisenor\/","title":{"rendered":"Ode on a Nightingale. Oda a un ruise\u00f1or."},"content":{"rendered":"
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\"\"<\/h1>\n

https:\/\/www.poetryfoundation.org\/poems\/44479\/ode-to-a-nightingale<\/span><\/a><\/h1>\n

Ode to a Nightingale<\/h1>\n<\/div>\n
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By John Keats<\/a> <\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,<\/div>\n
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:<\/div>\n
‘Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But being too happy in thine happiness,\u2014<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In some melodious plot<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Singest of summer in full-throated ease.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Cool’d a long age in the deep-delved earth,<\/div>\n
Tasting of Flora and the country green,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Dance, and Proven\u00e7al song, and sunburnt mirth!<\/div>\n
O for a beaker full of the warm South,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And purple-stained mouth;<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 And with thee fade away into the forest dim:<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0What thou among the leaves hast never known,<\/div>\n
The weariness, the fever, and the fret<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;<\/div>\n
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Where but to think is to be full of sorrow<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And leaden-eyed despairs,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Away! away! for I will fly to thee,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,<\/div>\n
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:<\/div>\n
Already with thee! tender is the night,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Cluster’d around by all her starry Fays;<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But here there is no light,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,<\/div>\n
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Wherewith the seasonable month endows<\/div>\n
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Fast fading violets cover’d up in leaves;<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And mid-May’s eldest child,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I have been half in love with easeful Death,<\/div>\n
Call’d him soft names in many a mused rhyme,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To take into the air my quiet breath;<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Now more than ever seems it rich to die,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To cease upon the midnight with no pain,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In such an ecstasy!<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain\u2014<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 To thy high requiem become a sod.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0No hungry generations tread thee down;<\/div>\n
The voice I hear this passing night was heard<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In ancient days by emperor and clown:<\/div>\n
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 She stood in tears amid the alien corn;<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The same that oft-times hath<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Charm’d magic casements, opening on the foam<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.<\/div>\n
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Forlorn! the very word is like a bell<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To toll me back from thee to my sole self!<\/div>\n
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As she is fam’d to do, deceiving elf.<\/div>\n
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Past the near meadows, over the still stream,<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Up the hill-side; and now ‘tis buried deep<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In the next valley-glades:<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Was it a vision, or a waking dream?<\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Fled is that music:\u2014Do I wake or sleep?<\/div>\n
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\u00abOda a un ruise\u00f1or\u00bb<\/h2>\n

Me duele el coraz\u00f3n y un pesado letargo
\nAflige a mis sentidos, como si hubiera bebido
\nCicuta o apurado un opi\u00e1ceo hace s\u00f3lo
\n<\/span>Un instante y me hubiera sumido en el Leteo:
\nY esto no es porque tenga envidia de tu suerte,
\nSino porque feliz me siento con tu dicha
\nCuando, ligera dr\u00edade alada de los \u00e1rboles,
\nEn alg\u00fan melodioso lugar de verdes hayas
\nE innumerables sombras
\nBrota en el est\u00edo tu canto enajenado.<\/p>\n

2<\/p>\n

\u00a1Oh, si un trago de vino largo tiempo enfriado
\nEn las profundas cuevas de la tierra
\nQue supiera a Flora y a la verde campi\u00f1a,
\nCanciones provenzales, sol, danza y regocijo;
\nOh, si una copa de caliente sur,
\nLlena de la mism\u00edsima, ruborosa Hipocrene,
\nEnsartadas burbujas titilando en los bordes,
\nPurp\u00farea la boca: si pudiera beber
\nY abandonar el mundo inadvertido
\nY junto a ti perderme por el oscuro bosque!<\/p>\n

3<\/p>\n

Perderme a lo lejos, deshacerme, olvidar
\nQue entre las hojas t\u00fa nunca has conocido
\nLa inquietud, el cansancio y la fiebre
\nAqu\u00ed, donde los hombres tan s\u00f3lo se lamentan
\nY tiemblan de par\u00e1lisis postreras, tristes canas,
\nDonde crecen los j\u00f3venes como espectros y mueren,
\nDonde a\u00fan el pensamiento se llena de tristeza
\nY de desesperanzas, donde ni la Belleza
\nPuede salvaguardar sus luminosos ojos
\nPor los que el nuevo amor perece sin ma\u00f1ana.<\/p>\n

4<\/p>\n

\u00a1Lejos! \u00a1Muy lejos! He de volar hacia ti.
\nNo me conducir\u00e1n leopardos de Baco
\nSino unas invisibles y po\u00e9ticas alas;
\nAunque torpe y confusa se retrase mi mente:
\n\u00a1Ya estoy contigo! Suave es la noche
\nY tal vez en su trono aparezca la luna
\nCircundada de m\u00e1gicas estrellas.
\nPero aqu\u00ed no hay luz, salvo la que acompa\u00f1a
\nDesde el cielo el soplo de la brisa cruzando
\nEl oscuro verdor y veredas de musgo.<\/p>\n

5<\/p>\n

No puedo ver qu\u00e9 flores hay a mis pies
\nNi el blando incienso suspendido en las ramas,
\nPero en la embalsamada oscuridad presiento
\nCada uno de los dones con los que la estaci\u00f3n
\nDota a la hierba, los \u00e1rboles silvestres, la espesura:
\nPastoril eglantina y blanco espino,
\nVioletas marcesibles recubiertas de hojas
\nY el primer nuevo brote de mediados de mayo,
\nLa rosa del almizcle rociada de vino,
\nMorada rumorosa de moscas en verano.<\/p>\n

6<\/p>\n

A oscuras escucho. Y en m\u00e1s de una ocasi\u00f3n
\nHe amado el alivio que depara la muerte
\nInvoc\u00e1ndola con ternura en versos meditados
\nPara que disipara en el aire mi aliento.
\nAhora m\u00e1s que nunca morir parece dulce,
\nDejar de existir sin pena a medianoche
\n\u00a1Mientras se te derrama afuera el alma
\nEn semejante \u00e9xtasis! Seguir\u00eda tu canto
\nY te habr\u00eda escuchado yo en vano:
\nA tu r\u00e9quiem conviene un pedazo de tierra.<\/p>\n

7<\/p>\n

\u00a1No conoces la muerte, P\u00e1jaro inmortal!
\nNo te hollar\u00e1 ca\u00eddo generaci\u00f3n hambrienta.
\nLa voz que ahora escucho mientras pasa la noche
\nFue o\u00edda en otros tiempos por reyes y bufones;
\nTal vez fuera este mismo canto el que una senda
\nEncontr\u00f3 en el triste coraz\u00f3n de Ruth, cuando
\nEnferma de a\u00f1oranza, se sum\u00eda en el llanto
\nRodeada de trigos extranjeros,
\nLa misma que otras veces ha encantado m\u00e1gicas
\nVentanas que se abren a peligrosos mares
\nEn prodigiosas tierras ya olvidadas.<\/p>\n

8<\/p>\n

\u00a1Olvidadas! El mismo ta\u00f1er de esta palabra
\nMe devuelve, ya lejos de ti, a mi soledad.
\n\u00a1Adi\u00f3s! La Fantas\u00eda no consigue enga\u00f1arnos
\nTanto, duende falaz, como dice la fama.
\n\u00a1Adi\u00f3s! Tu lastimero himno se desvanece
\nAl pasar por los prados vecinos, el tranquilo
\nArroyo y la colina; ahora es enterrado
\nEn los calveros del cercano valle.
\n\u00bfHe so\u00f1ado despierto o ha sido una visi\u00f3n?
\nHa volado la m\u00fasica. \u00bfEstoy despierto o duermo?<\/p>\n

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John Keats: Oda a un ruise\u00f1or<\/a><\/p><\/blockquote>\n