XLVI

 

Urte-barru orretan, nere alboko, adiskide kutuna il egin zan;

Bukaeraño urena, Lady Jean il egin zan.

Bere illobi aurrean etxekoak makurtu,

Bañan iñork ez zun, nik bezela, negarrari eman.

Banan bana guztiak alde egin zuten,

— Peter eta Bill’ek —nere semea ikastolara.

Ia ez konturaturik, Percy’ren alargun zoragarria,

Gela zaarrean, Lady Jean’en lekuan eserita zegoela.

 

Rosamund, Percy’ren alarguna, ingelesen edertasun

Otz orrekin, ille zillar-zuri, seda bezin biguña,

Begiak itsas-berde, nereetatik beti urrun,

Beste edozeingandik ere bai, bere barrena

Azalean jartzea iduritzen ote zitzaion

Orrelako edertasun otz orreri.

 

Ez giñan adiskide, ez etsai. Beti muturtu xamarra

Zirudin, mindua, beste emakumeak ere

Munduan bizi ziralako—

Urte-buru luze ondoren alkar ikusiaz,

Agur murritzak egiñaz,

Leenengo aldiz itz egin zidan —

Zerbait esan bear danean bezela, zorrotz alakoan.

 

 

 

XLVI

That year she died, my nearest, dearest friend; / Lady Jean died, heroic to the end. / The family stood about her grave, but none / Mourned her as I did. After, one by one, / They slipped away—Peter and Bill—my son / Went back to school. I hardly was aware / Of Percy’s lovely widow, sitting there / In the old room, in Lady Jean’s own chair. // An English beauty glacially fair / Was Percy’s widow Rosamund, her hair / Was silver gilt, and smooth as silk, and fine, / Her eyes, sea-green, slanted away from mine, / From any one’s, as if to meet the gaze / Of others was too intimate a phase / For one as cool and beautiful as she. // We were not friends or foes. She seemed to be / Always a little irked—fretted to find / That other women lived among mankind. / Now for the first time after years of meeting, / Never exchanging more than formal greeting. / She spoke to me—that sharp determined way / People will speak when they have things to say.