Foster the Light - Dylan Thomas

Foster the light nor veil the manshaped moon,

Nor weather winds that blow not down the bone,

But strip the twelve-winded marrow from his circle;

Master the night nor serve the snowman's brain

That shapes each bushy item of the air

Into a polestar pointed on an icicle.



Murmur of spring nor crush the cockerel's eggs,

Nor hammer back a season in the figs,

But graft these four-fruited ridings on your country;

Farmer in time of frost the burning leagues,

By red-eyed orchards sow the seeds of snow,

In your young years the vegetable century.



And father all nor fail the fly-lord's acre,

Nor sprout on owl-seed like a goblin-sucker,

But rail with your wizard's ribs the heart-shaped planet;

Of mortal voices to the ninnies' choir,

High lord esquire, speak up the singing cloud,

And pluck a mandrake music from the marrowroot.



Roll unmanly over this turning tuft,

O ring of seas, nor sorrow as I shift

From all my mortal lovers with a starboard smile;

Nor when my love lies in the cross-boned drift

Naked among the bow-and-arrow birds

Shall you turn cockwise on a tufted axle.



Who gave these seas their colour in a shape,

Shaped my clayfellow, and the heaven's ark

In time at flood filled with his coloured doubles;

O who is glory in the shapeless maps,

Now make the world of me as I have made

A merry manshape of your walking circle.


(fico devendo a tradução. Entrego depois, combinado?)