Kubla Khan.

Kubla Khan, Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834)

En Xanad, Kubla Khan orden levantar un majestuoso palacio;
all donde Alf, el ro sagrado, corre a travs de mil cavernas,
desembocando en un mar abandonado por el sol.
Dos veces cinco millas de tierra frtil,
por murallas y torres eran circundada;
y all veanse jardines surcados por brillantes arroyos,
en los que florecan filas de rboles perfumados,
y bosques tan apretados como montaas,
encerrando en su seno verdes pasajes sonrientes.
Aquella profunda y romntica quebrada
que se adentra en la verde colina,
a la sombra de los cedros!
Paisaje agreste!
Encantado y beatificado como si en otra poca,
bajo la luna moribunda,
alguna dama hubiese venido a llorar por su demonio amante!
Y de esta quebrada, creciendo en incesante gemido,
como si la tierra respirase hondo,
brotase por momentos una fuente tumultuosa;
cuyas lenguas inciertas escupen fragmentos como granizo
que saltan bajo el saco de trigo,
y en medio de estas danzantes rocas, junto a ellas,
saltaba hacia los aires el ro sagrado.
Durante cinco millas, por un laberinto trazado,
entre bosques y valles corra el ro sagrado,
antes de entrar en las cavernas al hombre inmensurable
y de hundirse tumultuosa en un ocano muerto.
En medio de este tumulto, Kubla oy en la distancia
las voces ancestrales que predecan la guerra.
La sombra del palacio de los deleites flotaba sobre las olas,
y desde l se oan las melodas de la fuente y las cavernas.
Milagro de sutil ingenio este resplandeciente palacio con sus cavernas de hielo!
V en sueos una doncella, taendo su instrumento:
una doncella abisinia, taendo su instrumento
y cantando dulcemente en el monte Abora.
Ah! Si yo pudiese resucitar de mi memoria su msica y su cancin,
en tan grave xtasis me sumiran,
que podra construir con msica en el aire aquel palacio.
Aquel palacio resplandeciente, aquellas cavernas de hielo!
Y cuantos me oyeran veran ante sus propios ojos, y todos gritaran:
Cuidado! Cuidado! Mirad los ojos fulgurantes, mirad su flotante cabellera!
Trazad un triple crculo en torno a l y cerrad los ojos en sagrada reverencia,
pues l se ha nutrido de dulce roco y bebido la leche del Paraso.
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills
Where blossom'd many an incense-bearing tree;

And here were forests ancient as the hills,

Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But O, that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced;
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reach'd the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she play'd,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me,
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834)