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Poema

The Burning Babe - Robert Southwell

As I in hoary winter’s night stood shivering in the snow,
Surpris’d I was with sudden heat which made my heart to glow;
And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near,
A pretty Babe all burning bright did in the air appear;


The Burning Babe - Robert Southwell - Poema

As I in hoary winter’s night stood shivering in the snow,
Surpris’d I was with sudden heat which made my heart to glow;
And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near,
A pretty Babe all burning bright did in the air appear;
Who, scorched with excessive heat, such floods of tears did shed
As though his floods should quench his flames which with his tears were fed.
“Alas!” quoth he, “but newly born, in fiery heats I fry,
Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel my fire but I!
My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wounding thorns,
Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke, the ashes shame and scorns;
The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy blows the coals,
The metal in this furnace wrought are men’s defiled souls,
For which, as now on fire I am to work them to their good,
So will I melt into a bath to wash them in my blood.”
With this he vanish’d out of sight and swiftly shrunk away,
And straight I called unto mind that it was Christmas day.


The Burning Babe - Robert Southwell - Poema - Tradução em Português

Enquanto eu na noite de inverno estava tremendo na neve,
Surpris eu estava com calor repentino que fez meu coração brilhar;




E levantando um olhar medonho para ver o que o fogo estava perto,
Uma bonita Babe toda ardendo brilhante apareceu no ar;
Que, queimada com calor excessivo, tais inundações de lágrimas derramaram
Como se as inundações dele apagassem as chamas dele que com as lágrimas dele eram alimentadas.
Ai! Ele disse, "mas recém nascido, em fogo ardente eu frito,
No entanto, ninguém se aproxima para aquecer seus corações ou sentir meu fogo, mas eu!
Meu peito impecável é o forno, o combustível espinhos feridos,
O amor é o fogo e suspira a fumaça, as cinzas envergonham e desprezam;
O combustível que a Justiça coloca, e Misericórdia sopra as brasas,
O metal neste forno forjado são almas contaminadas dos homens,
Para o qual, como agora em chamas, devo trabalhar para o seu bem,
      Então me derreterei em um banho para lavá-los no meu sangue ”.
      Com isso ele sumiu de vista e rapidamente se afastou,
      E direto eu chamei para a mente que era dia de Natal.



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