To a spring
How happily you greet 1
the sun with your current,
in whose light you bubble to life,
ah, sacred spring,
daughter of the ancient forest!
How you entrust your hidden trove,
your cold waters, to its blond rays!
You blazon forth, sure of summer,
and bluster bravely at hoary winter;
but don’t mistreat him; by that road, 10
for all his fury, he must return,
for see, your new gilded sun
must return the way it came.
Winter and spring pass fl eetingly
through you; so nature decrees;
the vagabond months, marked by
the sky, are merely your guests.
Parched by heat, you love the ice,
prisoner of ice, you love the heat.
Sure, the sun’s brilliance 20
breaks your transparent jail,
made of liquid crystal and seeming silver.
But I fear that, burning,
it comes less to liberate
than to imbibe you,
and that you should decry
what impoverishes your clear current,
more than the pious ice,
which, seeing you weary of ever fl owing,
freezes your motion, 30
so you might rest.
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