Minha alma não é covarde (1846)
The following are the last lines my sister Emily ever wrote." (Charlotte).
Nada covarde a alma minha
Sem tremer nesse mundo de tempestades pleno
Vejo o Paraíso, que brilha!
E a fé brilha junto, e eu nada temo!
Deus, que é quem sou!
Todo poderoso - Divindade sempre presente!
Vida - que em mim pousou
Como eu - Vida Imortal - tenho poder em Ti!
Vãos são os mil credos
Que movem os corações dos homens: Vaidade
Ervas daninhas e enganos cegos
Ou a espuma em meio à Imensidade
Em despertar a dúvida em Ti
Tão rápido amparados na Tua Infinidade!
Ancorados com segurança ali
A pedra inamovível da Imortalidade!
Com amor que a tudo vem envolver
Teu espírito a tudo ampara e anima
Tudo atinge e faz crescer
Muda, sustenta, dissolve, cria e reanima
Quando terra e homem vierem a desaparecer
E sóis e universos deixarem de ser
Quando sozinho estiver o Ser
Toda a existência em Ti vai existir
Não há espaço para Medo
Nem a mínima parte do seu poder pode ser apagada
Tua - TUA arte - Ser e Alento!
Tua Arte - não pode voltar ao nada!
versão: Afonso Jr. Lima
No Coward Soul Is Mine
No coward soul is mine,
No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere:
I see Heaven's glories shine,
And faith shines equal, arming me from fear.
O God within my breast,
Almighty, ever-present Deity!
Life--that in me has rest,
As I--undying Life--have power in thee!
Vain are the thousand creeds
That move men's hearts: unutterably vain;
Worthless as withered weeds,
Or idlest froth amid the boundless main,
To waken doubt in one
Holding so fast by thine infinity;
So surely anchored on
The stedfast rock of immortality.
With wide-embracing love
Thy spirit animates eternal years,
Pervades and broods above,
Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears.
Though earth and man were gone,
And suns and universes ceased to be,
And Thou were left alone,
Every existence would exist in Thee.
There is not room for Death,
Nor atom that his might could render void:
Thou--THOU art Being and Breath,
And what THOU art may never be destroyed
Cold in the earth—and the deep snow piled above thee,
Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave!
Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee,
Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave?
Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover
Over the mountains, on that northern shore,
Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover
Thy noble heart forever, ever more?
Cold in the earth—and fifteen wild Decembers,
From those brown hills, have melted into spring:
Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers
After such years of change and suffering!
Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee,
While the world's tide is bearing me along;
Other desires and other hopes beset me,
Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong!
No later light has lightened up my heaven,
No second morn has ever shone for me;
All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given,
All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee.
But, when the days of golden dreams had perished,
And even Despair was powerless to destroy,
Then did I learn how existence could be cherished,
Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy.
Then did I check the tears of useless passion—
Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine;
Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten
Down to that tomb already more than mine.
And, even yet, I dare not let it languish,
Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain;
Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,
How could I seek the empty world again?