1616

William Shakespeare

1564 – 1616

La primera edición de los Sonetos fue publicada en

Londres en 1609

SONNET XVIIIShall I compare thee to a summer’s day?Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?Thou art more lovely and more temperate:Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,And summer's lease hath all too short a date:Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,And often is his gold complexion dimmed,And every fair from fair sometime declines,By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed: But thy eternal summer shall not fade,Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,For all the day they view things unrespected;But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed.Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,How would thy shadow's form form happy showTo the clear day with thy much clearer light,When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so! How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed madeBy looking on thee in the living day,When in dead night thy fair imperfect shadeThrough heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay!All days are nights to see till I see thee,And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

SONNET XLIII

When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see

No longer mourn for me when I am deadThan you shall hear the surly sullen bellGive warning to the world that I am fledFrom this vile world with vilest worms to dwell:Nay, if you read this line, remember notThe hand that writ it, for I love you so,That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,If thinking on me then should make you woe.O! if, I say, you look upon this verse,When I perhaps compounded am with clay,Do not so much as my poor name rehearse;But let your love even with my life decay;Lest the wise world should look into your moan,And mock you with me after I am gone.

SONNET LXXI No longer mourn for me when I am dead

Let me not to the marriage of true mindsAdmit impediments. Love is not loveWhich alters when it alteration finds,Or bends with the remover to remove:O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,That looks on tempests and is never shaken;It is the star to every wandering bark,Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeksWithin his bending sickle's compass come;Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,But bears it out even to the edge of doom.If this be error and upon me proved,I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

SONNET CXVILet me not to the marriage of true minds

How oft when thou, my music, music play'st,Upon that blessed wood whose motion soundsWith thy sweet fingers when thou gently sway'stThe wiry concord that mine ear confounds,Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap,To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,Whilst my poor lips which should that harvest reap,At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand!To be so tickled, they would change their state And situation with those dancing chips,O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,Making dead wood more bless'd than living lips.Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.

SONNET CXXVIIIHow oft when thou, my music, music play'st

Two loves I have of comfort and despair,Which like two spirits do suggest me still:The better angel is a man right fair,The worser spirit a woman coloured ill.To win me soon to hell, my female evil,Tempteth my better angel from my side,And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,Wooing his purity with her foul pride.And whether that my angel be turned fiend,Suspect I may, yet not directly tell;ut being both from me, both to each friend,I guess one angel in another's hell:Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt, Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

SONNET CXLIVTwo loves I have of comfort and despair

Francisco de Quevedo1580 – 1645

Love Constant Beyond Death

The final shadow that will close my eyes will in its darkness take me from white day and instantly untie the soul from lies and flattery of death, and find its way, and yet my soul won't leave its memory of love there on the shore where it has burned: my flame can swim cold water and has learned to lose respect for law´s severity. My soul, whom a God made his prison of, my veins, which liquid humour fed to fire, my marrows, which have gloriously flamed, will leave their body, never their desire; they will be ash but ash in feeling framed; they will be dust but will be dust in love.

[Traducción de Willis Barnstone]

Manuel Mujica Láinez1910 - 1984

A Shakespeare Cuando más me afligía la amargurade mi país burlado y humillado,y el no reconocerlo, transformadoen un niño al que guía la locura, cuando ya no sabía hacia qué ladovolver los ojos en la noche impura,porque todo era miedo y espesuray nada nos quedaba de lo amado; me acerqué a ti, que estás en la alta calmade lo inmortal, y entonces mi pobre almarecuperó, escuchándote, el sosiego, pues tu música exacta me decíaque no hay eternidad sin armoníay sin amor, y que no fuera ciego