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At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
An opiate vapor, dewy, dim,
Exhales from out her golden rim,
And, softly dripping, drop by drop,
Upon the quiet mountain top,
Steals drowsily and musically
Into the universal valley.
The rosemary nods upon the grave;
The lily lolls upon the wave;
Wrapping the fog about its breast,
The ruin molders into rest;
Looking like Lethe, see! the lake
A conscious slumber seems to take,
And would not, for the world, awake.
And would not, for the world, awake.
All Beauty sleeps!- and lo! where lies
Irene, with her Destinies!
O, lover bright! can it be right-
This window open to the night?
The wanton airs, from the tree-top,
Laughingly through the lattice drop-
The bodiless airs, a wizard rout,
Flit through thy chamber in and out,
And wave the curtain canopy
So fitfully- so fearfully-
Above the closed and fringed lid
'Neath which thy slumb'ring soul lies hid,
That, o'er the floor and down the wall,
Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall!
Oh, lover dear, hast thou no fear?
Why and what art thou dreaming here?
Sure thou art come O'er far-off seas,
A wonder to these garden trees!
Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress,
Strange, above all, thy length of tress,
And this all solemn silentness!
My lover sleeps! Oh, may his sleep,
Which is enduring, so be deep!
Heaven may have him in its sacred keep!
This chamber changed for one more holy,
This bed for one more melancholy,
I pray to Saturn that he may lie
For ever with unopened eye,
While the pale sheeted ghosts go by!
My lover, oh may he sleeps! Oh, may his sleep
As it is lasting, so be deep!
Soft may the worms about his creep!
Far in the forest, dim and old,
For his may some tall vault unfold-
Some vault that oft has flung its black
And winged panels fluttering back,
Triumphant, o'er the crested palls,
Of his grand family funerals-
Some sepulchre, remote, alone,
Against whose portal he hath thrown,
In childhood, many an idle stone-
Some tomb from out whose sounding door
He ne'er shall force an echo more,
Thrilling to think, poor child of sin!
It was the dead who groaned within.
A medianoche, en el mes de junio,
Yo estoy bajo la mística luna.
Un vapor de opio, húmeda, oscura,
Exhala a cabo su aro de oro,
Y, en voz baja goteo, gota a gota,
Sobre la cima de la montaña tranquilo,
Roba soñolienta y musicalmente
En el valle universal.
El romero asiente con la cabeza sobre la tumba;
El lirio se doblegue a la ola;
Envolviendo la niebla sobre su pecho,
Los moldeadores de la ruina en el descanso;
Luciendo como Leteo, ¡mira! el lago
Un sueño consciente parece tener,
Y no lo haría, para el mundo, despierta.
Y no lo haría, para el mundo, despierta.
Todos belleza duerme - y he aquí donde se encuentra
Irene, con sus destinos!
O, amante brillante! puede ser correcto-
Esta ventana abierta a la noche?
El sin sentido se transmite, desde la copa de los árboles,
Riendo a través de la red de abandono
Los aires sin cuerpo, una derrota asistente,
Flit a través de tu cámara de entrada y salida,
Y la onda de la cortina de follaje
Así que a ratos-tan terriblemente-
Por encima de la tapa cerrada y con flecos
'Neath la cual tu alma adormecida yace oculto,
Eso, que sobre el piso y el muro,
Al igual que los fantasmas de las sombras lugar y fa
Ayúdanos a mejorar, si encuentras errores ¡Envíanos tu corrección!
Sopor Aeternus
The Sleeper (Version de Sopor)
The Sleeper (Version de Sopor)
At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
An opiate vapor, dewy, dim,
Exhales from out her golden rim,
And, softly dripping, drop by drop,
Upon the quiet mountain top,
Steals drowsily and musically
Into the universal valley.
The rosemary nods upon the grave;
The lily lolls upon the wave;
Wrapping the fog about its breast,
The ruin molders into rest;
Looking like Lethe, see! the lake
A conscious slumber seems to take,
And would not, for the world, awake.
And would not, for the world, awake.
All Beauty sleeps!- and lo! where lies
Irene, with her Destinies!
O, lover bright! can it be right-
This window open to the night?
The wanton airs, from the tree-top,
Laughingly through the lattice drop-
The bodiless airs, a wizard rout,
Flit through thy chamber in and out,
And wave the curtain canopy
So fitfully- so fearfully-
Above the closed and fringed lid
'Neath which thy slumb'ring soul lies hid,
That, o'er the floor and down the wall,
Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall!
Oh, lover dear, hast thou no fear?
Why and what art thou dreaming here?
Sure thou art come O'er far-off seas,
A wonder to these garden trees!
Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress,
Strange, above all, thy length of tress,
And this all solemn silentness!
My lover sleeps! Oh, may his sleep,
Which is enduring, so be deep!
Heaven may have him in its sacred keep!
This chamber changed for one more holy,
This bed for one more melancholy,
I pray to Saturn that he may lie
For ever with unopened eye,
While the pale sheeted ghosts go by!
My lover, oh may he sleeps! Oh, may his sleep
As it is lasting, so be deep!
Soft may the worms about his creep!
Far in the forest, dim and old,
For his may some tall vault unfold-
Some vault that oft has flung its black
And winged panels fluttering back,
Triumphant, o'er the crested palls,
Of his grand family funerals-
Some sepulchre, remote, alone,
Against whose portal he hath thrown,
In childhood, many an idle stone-
Some tomb from out whose sounding door
He ne'er shall force an echo more,
Thrilling to think, poor child of sin!
It was the dead who groaned within.
Sopor Aeternus
El Durmiente (la versión Sopor)
El Durmiente (la versión Sopor)
A medianoche, en el mes de junio,
Yo estoy bajo la mística luna.
Un vapor de opio, húmeda, oscura,
Exhala a cabo su aro de oro,
Y, en voz baja goteo, gota a gota,
Sobre la cima de la montaña tranquilo,
Roba soñolienta y musicalmente
En el valle universal.
El romero asiente con la cabeza sobre la tumba;
El lirio se doblegue a la ola;
Envolviendo la niebla sobre su pecho,
Los moldeadores de la ruina en el descanso;
Luciendo como Leteo, ¡mira! el lago
Un sueño consciente parece tener,
Y no lo haría, para el mundo, despierta.
Y no lo haría, para el mundo, despierta.
Todos belleza duerme - y he aquí donde se encuentra
Irene, con sus destinos!
O, amante brillante! puede ser correcto-
Esta ventana abierta a la noche?
El sin sentido se transmite, desde la copa de los árboles,
Riendo a través de la red de abandono
Los aires sin cuerpo, una derrota asistente,
Flit a través de tu cámara de entrada y salida,
Y la onda de la cortina de follaje
Así que a ratos-tan terriblemente-
Por encima de la tapa cerrada y con flecos
'Neath la cual tu alma adormecida yace oculto,
Eso, que sobre el piso y el muro,
Al igual que los fantasmas de las sombras lugar y fa
Ayúdanos a mejorar, si encuentras errores ¡Envíanos tu corrección!
