Ludovico Einaudi : "Divenire"

Catullus (84 - 54 B.C.)

My little volume is complete,

With all the care and polish neat

       That make it fair to see:

To whom shall I then, to whose praise,

Inscribe my lively graceful lays?

      Cornelius, friend, to thee.


Thou only of th' Italian race

Hast dared in three small books to trace

     All time's remotest flight:

Oh Jove, how labour'd, learn'd and wise!

Yet still thou ne'er wouldst quite despise

     The trifles that I write.


Then take the book I now address,

Though small its size, its merits less,

    'Tis all thy friend can give;

And let me, guardian Muse, implore

That when at least, one age is o'er,

    This volume yet may live.





Dedication of The Poems
to Cornelius Nepos
The Poems of Catullus
Translation by The Hon. George Lamb

Unknown Poet (S XIV) : "Sir Gawain and The Green Knight" excerpt

Rain falls clear in warm showers, 

And the flat earth opens into flowers

And fields and plains grow thick and green,

Birds start their nests and sing like angels

For love of soft summer, creeping across

                                                            The Slopes;

                And hedgerows swell tall,

                And blossoms blow open,

                And glorious woods are all

                Echoing joy and hope.

And after summer's soft winds, Zephyrus

Whistles quietly with seeds and herbs,

Sprouting delightful plants, painted

Wet with dew falling from leaves,

Waiting to be warm in the bright sun.

Then autumn comes rushing, calling the plants

 To watch for winter, to grow while they can;

And he dries the earth and drives dust

Swirling to the sky, and wild winds

Run to wrestle with the sun; leaves

Are thrown from trees and lie dead on the ground,

And green grass withers. And everything

Slender and new ripens and rots,

And a year runs away in passing days,

And winter winds back, as winter must,

                                                      Just so.

                Till the Michaelmas moon

                Promises snow-

                And Gawain soon

                Recalls what he has to do.

But he stays with Arthur till All-Saints Day.  

And the king makes a feast in his honor, the court

And their ladies merry around the Round Table,

Gracious knights and lovely women

Grieving for love of Gawain, but laughing 

and drinking his name, smiling and joking

While their hearts sank gray and cold. And Gawain

Feasts, then sadly approaches his uncle

And speaks of his journey, and bluntly says:

"Lord of my life, I ask your leave.

You know my promise" ...



                                    



From "Sir Gawain and The Green Knight"
Sir Gawain and The Green Knight
Translation by Burton Raffel