Cumbersa

Morri-me pula belheza, mas mal apenas
Na foia m’ajeitara,
Lhougo un, que pula berdade se morrira, se deitaba
Na foia mesmo al lhado.

Mui sereno preguntou por quien me morrira?
“Pula belheza”, respundi you.
“I you pula berdade, - dambas son la mesma cousa;
Nós somos armanos”, dixo-me.

I antoce, cumo patrícan ls que se béien pula nuite,
Nós falemos de foia para foia,
Até que l mofo creciu por nuossos beiços,
I mos tapou ls nuossos nomes.

Emily Dickinson
http://www.bartleby.com/113/4010.html
Puosto an mirandés por Fracisco Niebro



[an anglés:

I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.

He questioned softly why I failed?
“For beauty,” I replied.
“And I for truth,—the two are one;
We brethren are,” he said.

And so, as kinsmen met a night,
We talked between the rooms,
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names.]