Ho terminato qualche giorno fa la lettura di "Cime tempestose", romanzo che mi perseguitava fin dal liceo per la mancanza di una lettura integrale. Finito e molto soddisfatta direi, ne sarebbe contenta la mia vecchia insegnante inglese che ci ricordava continuamente la sua passione sfrenata per Heathcliff.
Tra l'altro, proprio poco fa, ho scoperto su Youtube dell'esistenza di diverse serie tv inglesi tratte dai romanzi del romanticismo inglese. Questo, per me, sarà l'inizio della fine.
Visualizzazione post con etichetta romanticism. Mostra tutti i post
Visualizzazione post con etichetta romanticism. Mostra tutti i post
sabato 25 maggio 2013
mercoledì 5 gennaio 2011
Day 273
0 commenti
Bright Star
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art–
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors–
No–yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever–or else swoon to death.
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art–
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors–
No–yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever–or else swoon to death.
John Keats, Bright Star, 1819.
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