Joan Maragall

The mountains

At the hour of sunset,
drinking at the fountain’s freshet,
I savoured the secrets
of the mysterious earth.

In the spring’s inner depths
I saw the virgin water
flower from its dark birthplace
to delight my mouth,

and it entered deep into my breast…
And with its clear streamlets
pierced me then and there
with a sweet wisdom.

When I arose and looked about,
the mountain, woods and meadow
seemed different to me:
everything seemed other than it was.

In the sky’s lovely dying
there began to shine,
among the crimsoned cloudbanks,
the white first quarter of the new moon.

All the world seemed in flower
and I was its soul.

I, the fragrant soul of the meadow,
eager to flower and be cut down.

I, the peaceful soul of the flock
with tinkling bells, half-hidden in the dell.

I, the soul of the woods that murmur
like the sea, far off on the horizon.

And also was I the willow’s soul
that blesses every font with its clear shade.

I, the dell’s deep soul
where mists arise and wake.

And the torrent’s restless soul
that shrieks in shining waterfall.

I was the blue soul of the pond
that cons the stranger with an alien eye.

I, the soul of the wind that moves all things
and the lowliness of an unfurling flower.

I was the height of mountain crests…

The clouds caressed me slowly
and in the cloudbank’s overwhelming love,
my soul serene was forged.

I felt the wild joy of the fountains,
the gift of snowpacks, surging in my breast
and, in the horizon’s huge unrest,
I felt the tempest’s vast repose.

And when the heavens opened round me
and the sun smiled on my green plain,
people, from afar, stayed the whole day
gazing upon my sovereign beauty.

But I, quite overcome with troubled longings
of the sea and mountains,
rose firmly to offer heaven
all that was pent-up in my womb and breasts.

At the hour of sunset,
drinking at the fountain’s freshet,
I have savoured the secrets
of the mysterious earth.