The Christmas’ clouds

    The Christmas’ clouds I don’t know what they have
    that they are docile: they don’t put
    not at all of malice at the sky:
    by the very pure blue they sweetly extends,
    at the light of setting they soft ignite
    and at night they let to view some star.

    It is one of the merriest things
    view among clouds the stars shine.
    Darkness Of Christmas, you are not darkness;
    more I view in you
    that not in the clear day.

    Oh, night that are passing silent;
    Oh, white clouds that by the stars passes;
    oh, light, that you are not nowhere mysterious;
    oh, portal of Bethlehem, that you are everything everywhere!

    When you want to give me more joy
    talk me of the Christmas clouded,
    and you will view me like girl that dreams,
    that laughs at what is seeing with the eyes closed.

    Joan Maragall (1860-1911)
    Literal translation for

    Capital of the Romanesque Monastery of Santa Maria de l’Estany (Moianès). Ox playing the rebec. Capital located in the east gallery of the Cloisters. (S. XI-XII)

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