Why should I blame her that she filled my days
With misery, or that she would of late
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Or hurled the little streets upon the great.
Had they but courage equal to desire?
What could have made her peaceful with a mind
That nobleness made simple as a fire,
With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind
That is not natural in an age like this,
Being high and solitary and most stern?
Why, what could she have done, being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn?
With misery, or that she would of late
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Or hurled the little streets upon the great.
Had they but courage equal to desire?
What could have made her peaceful with a mind
That nobleness made simple as a fire,
With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind
That is not natural in an age like this,
Being high and solitary and most stern?
Why, what could she have done, being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn?
- William Butler Yeats -
Non una seconda Troia
Perché avrei dovuto rimproverarla
per aver riempito i miei giorni di tristezza
o perché avrebbe voluto ultimamente
insegnare ad uomini ignoranti maniere più violente,
o avventare strade secondarie su quelle maestre,
se soltanto avessero avuto un coraggio pari al desiderio?
Che cosa avrebbe potuto riempirla di pace,
lei con un animo che la nobiltà
ha reso semplice come il fuoco,
con una bellezza simile ad un arco teso,
di un tipo che non è naturale in un'età come questa,
essendo alta e solitaria e molto austera?
Perché, cosa avrebbe potuto fare essendo quella che è?
C'era forse per lei un'altra Troia da bruciare?
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