De la brevedad engañosa de la vida

Menos solicitó veloz saeta
destinada señal, que mordió aguda;
agonal carro por la arena muda
no coronó con más silencio meta,

que presurosa corre, que secreta
a su fin nuestra edad. A quien lo duda,
fiera que sea de razón desnuda,
cada sol repetido es un cometa.

¿Confiésalo Cartago, y tú lo ignoras?
Peligro corres, Licio, si porfías
en seguir sombras y abrazar engaños.

Mal te perdonarán a ti las horas;
las horas que limando están los días,
los días que royendo están los años.



Concerning the deceptive brevity of life

Less swiftly did the arrow seek
its destined mark, which it so sharply pierced;
the racing chariot on voiceless sand
did not a column with more silence round,

than swiftly runs, and surreptitiously
to its end our life. For him who doubts,
even if it's a brute of reason stripped,
every new sun a comet's warning sounds.

Carthage confesses this, yet you don't see?
You are in danger, Lycius, if you persist
in chasing shadows, grasping at a straw.

You will not soon be pardoned by the hours:
hours that erode the fabric of our days,
days that our years inevitably gnaw. 

                     (©Alix Ingber, 1995)



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E-mail your comments and questions to:

Alix Ingber
Professor of Spanish
Sweet Briar College

ingber@sbc.edu



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