Ezra Pound: Francesca

Surgiste de la noche
Y había flores en tus manos,
Ahora surgirás de un amasijo de gente,
De un tumulto de palabras sobre ti.

Yo que te he visto entre las cosas primigenias
Estaba enojado cuando pronunciaban tu nombre
En lugares corrientes.
Quisiera que las frías olas fluyeran sobre mi mente,
Y que el mundo se secara como una hoja muerta,
O como el vilano y fuera arrastrado,
Para que yo pudiera encontrarte de nuevo,
Sola. 

You came in out of the night
And there were flowers in your hand,
Now you will come out of a confusion of people,
Out of a turmoil of speech about you.

I who have seen you amid the primal things
Was angry when they spoke your name
In ordinary places.
I would that the cool waves might flow over my mind,
And that the world should dry as a dead leaf,
Or as a dandelion seed-pod and be swept away,
So that I might find you again,
Alone.