Serg
10/07/2008, 01:04
Hoy tengo ganas de llorar, y en tremendas formas, por razones que en nada atan~en estos foros.
Pero quiero dedicarle un poema muy querido mio, a aquellos que dicen de uno que es 'ciego', simplemente por que uno ve diferente, o porque son ellos los que no ven lo que uno.
Lo escribio Colley Cibber, se llama 'The blind boy":
O, say what is that thing called light,
which I must ne'er enjoy?
What are the blessings of the sight,
O tell your poor blind boy!
You talk of wondrous things you see
You say the sun shines bright;
I feel him warm, but how can he
or make it day or night?
My day or night myself I make
Whene'er I sleep or play;
And could I ever keep awake
With me 't were always day.
With heavey sighs I often hear
you mourn my hapless woe;
But sure with patience I can bear
a loss I ne'er can know.
Then let not what I cannot have
My cheer of mind destroy:
Whilst thus I sing, I am a king,
Although a poor blind boy.
Pero quiero dedicarle un poema muy querido mio, a aquellos que dicen de uno que es 'ciego', simplemente por que uno ve diferente, o porque son ellos los que no ven lo que uno.
Lo escribio Colley Cibber, se llama 'The blind boy":
O, say what is that thing called light,
which I must ne'er enjoy?
What are the blessings of the sight,
O tell your poor blind boy!
You talk of wondrous things you see
You say the sun shines bright;
I feel him warm, but how can he
or make it day or night?
My day or night myself I make
Whene'er I sleep or play;
And could I ever keep awake
With me 't were always day.
With heavey sighs I often hear
you mourn my hapless woe;
But sure with patience I can bear
a loss I ne'er can know.
Then let not what I cannot have
My cheer of mind destroy:
Whilst thus I sing, I am a king,
Although a poor blind boy.