Mily...una noches!!!...Las Mil y Una Noches (en árabe, ألف ليلة وليلة Alf layla wa-layla —lit. Mil noches y una noche—; en persa, هزار و یک شب, Hazār-o yak shab)...Allô allô, Tunis!
Autor: Sophia's Lover | Publicado: 2012-02-14T01:44:00-08:00

Recollections of the Arabian NightsRecollections of the Arabian NightsBy Alfred, Lord Tennyson 1809–1892 Alfred, Lord Tennyson 
When the breeze of a joyful dawn blew free In the silken sail of infancy, The tide of time flow'd back with me, &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The forward-flowing tide of time; And many a sheeny summer-morn, Adown the Tigris I was borne, By Bagdat's shrines of fretted gold, High-walled gardens green and old; True Mussulman was I and sworn, &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For it was in the golden prime &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of good Haroun Alraschid. 
Anight my shallop, rustling thro' The low and bloomed foliage, drove The fragrant, glistening deeps, and clove The citron-shadows in the blue: By garden porches on the brim, The costly doors flung open wide, Gold glittering thro' lamplight dim, And broider'd sofas on each side: &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;In sooth it was a goodly time, &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For it was in the golden prime &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of good Haroun Alraschid. 
Often, where clear-stemm'd platans guard The outlet, did I turn away The boat-head down a broad canal From the main river sluiced, where all The sloping of the moon-lit sward Was damask-work, and deep inlay Of braided blooms unmown, which crept Adown to where the water slept. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A goodly place, a goodly time, &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For it was in the golden prime &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of good Haroun Alraschid. 
A motion from the river won Ridged the smooth level, bearing on My shallop thro' the star-strown calm, Until another night in night I enter'd, from the clearer light, Imbower'd vaults of pillar'd palm, Imprisoning sweets, which, as they clomb Heavenward, were stay'd beneath the dome &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of hollow boughs.—A goodly time, &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For it was in the golden prime &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of good Haroun Alraschid. 
Still onward; and the clear canal Is rounded to as clear a lake. From the green rivage many a fall Of diamond rillets musical, Thro' little crystal arches low Down from the central fountain's flow Fall'n silver-chiming, seem'd to shake The sparkling flints beneath the prow. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A goodly place, a goodly time, &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For it was in the golden prime &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of good Haroun Alraschid. 
Above thro' many a bowery turn A walk with vary-colour'd shells Wander'd engrain'd. On either side All round about the fragrant marge From fluted vase, and brazen urn In order, eastern flowers large, Some dropping low their crimson bells Half-closed, and others studded wide &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;With disks and tiars, fed the time &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;With odour in the golden prime &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of good Haroun Alraschid. 
Far off, and where the lemon-grove In closest coverture upsprung, The living airs of middle night Died round the bulbul as he sung; Not he: but something which possess'd The darkness of the world, delight, Life, anguish, death, immortal love, Ceasing not, mingled, unrepress'd, &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Apart from place, withholding time, &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But flattering the golden prime &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of good Haroun Alraschid. 
Black the garden-bowers and grots Slumber'd: the solemn palms were ranged Above, unwoo'd of summer wind: A sudden splendour from behind Flush'd all the leaves with rich gold-green, And, flowing rapidly between Their interspaces, counterchanged The level lake with diamond-plots &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of dark and bright. A lovely time, &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For it was in the golden prime &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of good Haroun Alraschid. 
Dark-blue the deep sphere overhead, Distinct with vivid stars inlaid, Grew darker from that under-flame: So, leaping lightly from the boat, With silver anchor left afloat, In marvel whence that glory came Upon me, as in sleep I sank In cool soft turf upon the bank, &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Entranced with that place and time, &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;So worthy of the golden prime &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of good Haroun Alraschid. 
Thence thro' the garden I was drawn— A realm of pleasance, many a mound, And many a shadow-chequer'd lawn Full of the city's stilly sound, And deep myrrh-thickets blowing round The stately cedar, tamarisks, Thick rosaries of scented thorn, Tall orient shrubs, and obelisks &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Graven with emblems of the time, &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;In honour of the golden prime &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of good Haroun Alraschid. 
With dazed vision unawares From the long alley's latticed shade Emerged, I came upon the great Pavilion of the Caliphat. Right to the carven cedarn doors, Flung inward over spangled floors, Broad-based flights of marble stairs Ran up with golden balustrade, &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;After the fashion of the time, &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And humour of the golden prime &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of good Haroun Alraschid. 
The fourscore windows all alight As with the quintessence of flame, A million tapers flaring bright From twisted silvers look'd to shame The hollow-vaulted dark, and stream'd Upon the mooned domes aloof In inmost Bagdat, till there seem'd Hundreds of crescents on the roof &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of night new-risen, that marvellous time, &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To celebrate the golden prime &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of good Haroun Alraschid. 
Then stole I up, and trancedly Gazed on the Persian girl alone, Serene with argent-lidded eyes Amorous, and lashes like to rays Of darkness, and a brow of pearl Tressed with redolent ebony, In many a dark delicious curl, Flowing beneath her rose-hued zone; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The sweetest lady of the time, &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Well worthy of the golden prime &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of good Haroun Alraschid. 
Six columns, three on either side, Pure silver, underpropt a rich Throne of the massive ore, from which Down-droop'd, in many a floating fold, Engarlanded and diaper'd With inwrought flowers, a cloth of gold. Thereon, his deep eye laughter-stirr'd With merriment of kingly pride, &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Sole star of all that place and time, &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I saw him—in his golden prime, &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;THE GOOD HAROUN ALRASCHID! Asie&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 1. Asia 
CLICK to Listen&nbsp;on YouTube
Asie, Asie. Asie! 
Vieux pays merveilleux des contes de nourrice&nbsp; 
Où dort la fantaisie comme une impératrice&nbsp; 
En sa forêt emplie de mystère.&nbsp; 
Asie,&nbsp;je voudrais m'en aller avec la goélette&nbsp; 
Qui se berce ce soir dans le port,&nbsp; 
Mystérieuse et solitaire,&nbsp; 
Et qui déploie enfin ses voiles violettes&nbsp; 
Comme un immense oiseau de nuit dans le ciel d'or.
Je voudrais m'en aller vers des îles de fleurs&nbsp; 
En écoutant chanter la mer perverse&nbsp; 
Sur un vieux rythme ensorceleur.&nbsp; 
Je voudrais voir Damas et les villes de Perse&nbsp; 
Avec les minarets légers dans l'air. 
Je voudrais voir de beaux turbans de soie&nbsp; 
Sur des visages noirs aux dents claires;&nbsp; 
Je voudrais voir des yeux sombres d'amour&nbsp; 
Et des prunelles brillantes de joie&nbsp; 
En des peaux jaunes comme des oranges;&nbsp; 
Je voudrais voir des vêtements de velours&nbsp; 
Et des habits à longues franges. 
Je voudrais voir des calumets entre des bouches
Tout entourées de barbe blanche; 
Je voudrais voir d'âpres marchands&nbsp;aux regards louches,
Et des cadis, et des vizirs&nbsp; 
Qui du seul mouvement de leur doigt qui se penche 
Accordent vie ou mort au gré de leur désir.
Je voudrais voir la Perse, et l'Inde, et puis la Chine, 
Les mandarins ventrus sous les ombrelles,&nbsp; 
Et les princesses aux mains fines,&nbsp; 
Et les lettrés qui se querrellent&nbsp; 
Sur la poésie et sur la beauté;&nbsp; 
Je voudrais m'attarder au palais enchanté 
Et comme un voyageur étranger&nbsp; 
Contemple à loisir des paysages peints&nbsp; 
Sur des étoffes en des cadres de sapin&nbsp; 
Avec un personnage au milieu d'un verger; 
Je voudrais voir des assassins souriant&nbsp; 
Du bourreau qui coupe un cou d'innocent&nbsp; 
Avec son grand sabre courbé d'Orient. 
Je voudrais voir des pauvres et des reines;&nbsp; 
Je voudrais voir des roses et du sang;&nbsp; 
Je voudrais voir mourir d'amour ou bien de haine.&nbsp; 
Et puis m'en revenir plus tard&nbsp; 
Narrer mon aventure aux curieux de rêves&nbsp; 
En élevant comme Sinbad ma vieille tasse arabe&nbsp; 
De temps en temps jusqu'à mes lèvres&nbsp; 
Pour interrompre le conte avec art ...&nbsp;Asia, Asia, Asia!&nbsp; 
Olden and wondrous land of&nbsp;tales dreamt&nbsp;by nursemaids,
Where sleeping&nbsp;fantasy lies&nbsp;like an empress&nbsp;fair&nbsp; 
In&nbsp;her forest o'erflowing&nbsp;with&nbsp;mystery.
Asia ...&nbsp;I should like to&nbsp;set&nbsp;out&nbsp;aboard the sea-bound schooner
Which is rocking this evening in port,&nbsp; 
Mysterious and solitary;&nbsp; 
And&nbsp;which at last unfurls its flutt'ring sails of purple&nbsp; 
Like an&nbsp;immense night bird&nbsp;aloft in&nbsp;the gold'n sky.
I should like to&nbsp;sail&nbsp;off towards islands of flow'rs
While list'ning to the&nbsp;perverse sea singing
In its old and bewitching rhythm.
I'd like to see Damascus, and cities of Persia
Where&nbsp;light minarets&nbsp;pierce through&nbsp;the air.*
I'd&nbsp;like to see&nbsp;those fine&nbsp;turbans of silk
Over&nbsp;black faces with&nbsp;white teeth gleaming;
I should&nbsp;wish to see eyes&nbsp;shaded with love
From which&nbsp;pupils&nbsp;shine brilliantly&nbsp;with joy
Against complexions&nbsp;as tawny as oranges;&nbsp; 
I should like to see&nbsp;fine vestments made of velvet&nbsp; 
And flowing robes&nbsp;with long, long&nbsp;fringes.
I'd like&nbsp;to see&nbsp;earthenware pipes&nbsp;stuck into&nbsp;pursed mouths 
Wholly surrounded by white whiskers;&nbsp; 
I'd like to see&nbsp;rough-edged merchants&nbsp;cast dirty glances,&nbsp; 
And the qadis and the viziers,&nbsp; 
Who with&nbsp;just the&nbsp;mere movement&nbsp;of&nbsp;their crooked finger
Can&nbsp;dispense life or death&nbsp;at their desire's whim.&nbsp; 
I'd see Persia,&nbsp;and India,&nbsp;then&nbsp;also&nbsp;China:
Plump mandarins&nbsp;sitting under umbrellas,&nbsp; 
And princesses with&nbsp;hands most lithe,&nbsp; 
And wise scholars who yet are&nbsp;quarr'ling
Over poetry&nbsp;and&nbsp;over beauty; 
I should like to&nbsp;pause&nbsp;in&nbsp;an enchanted palace&nbsp; 
And, like&nbsp;any foreign traveller,&nbsp; 
Contemplate at leisure&nbsp;those paintings&nbsp;of landscapes,
On&nbsp;finest fabrics in&nbsp;frames&nbsp;crafted out of fir,
Picturing&nbsp;someone&nbsp;in the middle of a grove;&nbsp; 
I'd like to see&nbsp;cruel&nbsp;assassins smile as
An executioner lops&nbsp;a guiltless&nbsp;head
With his big&nbsp;Oriental scimitar.
I'd like to see base paupers&nbsp;and&nbsp;grand&nbsp;queens, too;&nbsp; 
I'd like to see&nbsp;red roses and&nbsp;red blood;&nbsp; 
I'd like to see&nbsp;death&nbsp;caused by love, or&nbsp;else by hatred.
And later then I'll return&nbsp;home
To&nbsp;share&nbsp;my adventure&nbsp;with curious young dreamers;
And I will raise--just like Sinbad--my old Arabian&nbsp;goblet&nbsp; 
Up to my lips every now and then,
Interrupting&nbsp;the tale for&nbsp;artful effect&nbsp;... 
&nbsp;* For a literal translation use: "With light minarets in the air."
2. La flûte enchantée&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 2. The Enchanted FluteCLICK to listen: on YouTube
L'ombre est douce et mon maître dort,&nbsp; 
Coiffé d'un bonnet conique de soie&nbsp; 
Et son long nez jaune en sa barbe blanche.
Mais moi, je suis éveillée encore&nbsp; 
Et j'écoute au dehors&nbsp; 
Une chanson de flûte où s'épanche&nbsp; 
Tour à tour la tristesse ou la joie.&nbsp; 
Un air tour à tour langoureux ou frivole,&nbsp; 
Que mon amoureux chéri joue.
Et quand je m'approche de la croisée&nbsp; 
Il me semble que chaque note s'envole&nbsp; 
De la flûte vers ma joue&nbsp; 
Comme un mystérieux baiser.Darkness soothes and my master sleeps,
Coiffed&nbsp;in&nbsp;a cone-shaped night-bonnet of silk,
With his&nbsp;long nose&nbsp;yellow&nbsp;on his&nbsp;white whiskers.
But I, I'm wakened and roused again,
And I hear from outdoors
The lone&nbsp;song&nbsp;of a flute&nbsp;o'erflowing
At first&nbsp;with&nbsp;sorrow but then with&nbsp;such joy!
An air turning from languishing to frivolous, 
Which my own&nbsp;dearest&nbsp;lover plays.
And as I&nbsp;move closer&nbsp;to&nbsp;the&nbsp;window, 
To me it's as though each note&nbsp;has come&nbsp;winging
From his flute&nbsp;onto my cheek
Like&nbsp;a mysterious&nbsp;caress.
&nbsp;3. L'indifférent&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 3. The Indifferent OneCLICK to Listen&nbsp;on YouTube
Tes yeux sont doux comme ceux d'une fille,&nbsp; 
Jeune étranger,&nbsp; 
Et la courbe fine&nbsp; 
De ton beau visage de duvet ombragé&nbsp; 
Est plus séduisante encore de ligne.&nbsp; Ta lèvre chante sur le pas de ma porte&nbsp; 
Une langue inconnue et charmante&nbsp; 
Comme une musique fausse ... 
Entre!&nbsp;Et que mon vin te réconforte ...&nbsp; 
Mais non, tu passes&nbsp; 
Et de mon seuil je te vois t'éloigner&nbsp; 
Me faisant un dernier geste avec grâce&nbsp; 
Et la hanche légèrement ployée&nbsp; 
Par ta démarche féminine et lasse ... Your eyes are soft&nbsp;like those of any maiden,
My young stranger,
And the&nbsp;delicate curve
Of your&nbsp;fine&nbsp;features,&nbsp;shadowed&nbsp;with a silk down,
Forms&nbsp;an even more seductive outline.
Your lips&nbsp;form a song&nbsp;at the foot of&nbsp;my doorstep
In a&nbsp;tongue&nbsp;incoherent yet&nbsp;charming,
Rather like&nbsp;music&nbsp;tuned&nbsp;falsely&nbsp;...
Enter! And let my wine give you refreshment ...
But no&nbsp;... you pass on,
And from my threshold I watch you depart
As you make a last graceful&nbsp;gesture for me,
With&nbsp;a curved hip&nbsp;casually swaying
From&nbsp;your saunter that's&nbsp;both girlish and&nbsp;languid ... 


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