“Hope” is the thing with feathers —
That perches in the soul —
And sings the tune without the words —
And never stops — at all —
And sweetest — in the Gale — is heard —
And sore must be the storm —
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm —
I’ve heard it in the chillest land —
And on the strangest Sea —
Yet — never — in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of me.
That perches in the soul —
And sings the tune without the words —
And never stops — at all —
And sweetest — in the Gale — is heard —
And sore must be the storm —
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm —
I’ve heard it in the chillest land —
And on the strangest Sea —
Yet — never — in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of me.
Emily Dickinson
*
La “Esperanza” es la cosa con alas —
que se posa en el alma —
y entona la canción sin letra —
y no cesa — un instante —
y suena — más dulce — en el Vendaval —
y severa ha de ser la tormenta —
que acalle al Pajarito
que a tantos arropó —
Yo lo he oído en la tierra más fría —
y en el Mar más remoto —
mas — nunca — ante la Adversidad,
me pidió — una sola migaja.
traducción de Álvaro Torres Ruiz
