[BNP/E3, 31A – 3]

7

whole: good

details: good

The Island ✓

Weep, violin and viol,

     Low flute and fine bassoon.

Lo, an enchanted isle

     Moon‑bound beneath the moon!

My dream‑feet rustle through it

     Chequered by shade and beam.

Oh, could my soul but woo it

     From being but a dream!

Violin, viol and flute.

     Lo, the isle floats in air!

Through it I wander, mute

     With too much loss of care.

And the air where't doth float

     No air's, but light of moon.

Its paths are known to each note

     Of viol and bassoon.

Yet is it real, that isle,

     As our clear islands mortal?

Do flute, bassoon and viol

     But ope with sound a portal,

And show, somehow, somewhere,

     To what looks out from me

That pendulous island rare

     In a moon‑woven sea?

Maybe 'tis truer than ours.

     How true are these? But lo!

That isle that knows no hours

     Nor needeth hours to know,

And that hath truth and root

     Somewhere known of the moon,

Fades in the fading of flute,

     Violin and bassoon.

                 Fernando Pessoa