domingo, 28 de junho de 2009

The passions most men boast them of
Are like a desert's noontide haze:
I love thee with a constant love
Unwithering through all my days.
This fondness I profess for thee
Is pure, and in my heart I bear
True love's inscription plain to see,
And all its tale is written there.
Had any passion, thine beside,
At any time my soul possessed,
I would have torn my worthless hide
And plucked that alien from my breast.
There is no other prize I seek:
Thy love is my desire sincere:
Only upon this theme I speak
To capture thy complacent ear.
This if I win, the earth's expanse,
And all mankind, are but as dust,
Yea, the wide world's inhabitants
Are flies that crawl upon its crust.
---- Ibn Hazan

Poema de Abu Muhammad Ali Ibn Hazam dedicado a 'Ubaid Allah Ibn `Abd al-Rahman Ibn al-Mughira, neto do Califa Al-Nasir.
Imagem: Alegoria de Escultura, Gustav Klint

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