"Today I read almost two pages
From the book of a mystic poet,
And I laughed like some one who has been crying out loud.
Mystic poets are sick philosophers,
And philosophers are men gone mad.
Because mystic poets say that flowers feel
And they say that stones have souls
And that rivers ripple in ecstasy in the moonlight.
But flowers, were they to feel, would not be flowers,
They would be people;
And if stones had a soul, they would be living things,
They wouldn`t be stones;
And if rivers rippled in ecstasy in the moonlight,
Then rivers would be sick people..."
"Li hoje quase duas paginas
Do livro dum poeta mistico,
E ri como quem tem chorado muito.
Os poetas misticos sao filosofos doentes,
E os filosofos sao homens doidos.
Porque os poetas misticos dizem que as flores sentem
E dizem que as pedras tem alma
E que os rios tem extases ao luar.
Mas as flores, se sentissem, nao eram flores,
E se as pedras tivessem alma, eram coisas vivas,
Nao eram pedras;
E se os rios tivessem extases ao luar,
Os rios seriam homens doentes."