Rima XXIX

Sobre la falda tenía     el libro abierto, en mi mejilla tocaban     sus rizos negros: no veíamos las letras     ninguno, creo, mas guardábamos entrambos     hondo silencio. ¿Cuánto duró? Ni aun entonces     pude saberlo; sólo se que no se oía     más que el aliento, que apresurado escapaba     del labio seco. Sólo sé que nos volvimos los dos a un tiempo y nuestros ojos se hallaron     y sonó un beso. Creación de Dante era el libro,     era su Infierno. Cuando a él bajamos los ojos     yo dije trémulo: ¿Comprendes ya que un poema     cabe en un verso? Y ella respondió encendida:     ¡Ya lo comprendo!			On your skirt rested     the open book, against my cheek brushed     your black curls: we did not see the letters     none, I believe, but both of us maintained     profound silence. How long did it last? Even then     I couldn't know; only that I heard nothing     more than the breath that suddenly escaped     from dry lips. Only that we turned both at the same time and our eyes met     and there sounded a kiss. Dante's creation was the book,     was his Inferno. When to him we lowered our eyes     I said trembling: You understand that a poem     begins with one verse? And you replied fervently:     I understand!
Translations by others:
Upon her lap she help an open book     While furtively her black curls touched my cheek; For all its letters not a passing look,     In sultry silence no attempt to speak. - How long we sat? - I did not know it then;     I only know, that nothing but our breath Was audible, escaping just as when     Oppressed, it flies the shriveled lips of death. - I only know, that we both turned at once,     Instinctively attracted, that our eyes Sought, found each other like two flaming suns     And that a kiss was heard in Paradise. 'T was Dante's "Hell," which we had both perused;     When we resumed, I trembling said and low:     "Canst thou perceive intelligibly how A poem in one verse may be infused?" And, blushing, she replied: "I see it now." Translated by Jules Renard Copyright ©1908 by Richard G. Badger			She held the volume open     Upon her dress; Against my cheek was brushing     One raven tress; The letter there before us,     Not one was seen - But a great silence reigned     Us two between. How long? ... Not even then     Could it be known; Naught do I know, save there     Was heard, alone, The breath from dry lips rushing.     And I know this: We turned at once ... eyes met ...     Sounded a kiss. The book was Dante's work,     It was his Hell. All tremulous, I said     When our eyes fell: "Seest now how a poem ca     In one verse be?" And she, enkindled, answered:     "Yes, I see!" Translated by Young Allison Copyright ©1924 by Young Allison