Racconti di Tolkien

Where once was light now darkness falls

Random News

"Not all who wander are lost"

Contattaci per ogni domanda, dubbio o curiosità!

    tom bombadil

    prima dell’alba Tom era andato

    Old Maggot slept at last in chair beside the embers.
    Ere dawn Tom was gone: as dreams one half remembers,
    some merry, some sad, and some of hidden warning.
    None heard the door unlocked; a shower of rain at morning
    his footprints washed away, at Mithe he left no traces,
    at Hays-end they heard no song nor sound of heavy paces.
    …
    Leggi tutta la voce

    da Brea strani racconti

    When others went to bed in hay, fern, or feather,
    close in the inglenook they laid their heads together,
    old Tom and Muddy-feet, swapping all the tidings
    from Barrow-downs to Tower Hills: of walkings and of ridings;
    of wheat-ear and barley-corn, of sowing and of reaping;
    queer tales from Bree, and talk at smithy, mill, and cheaping;
    rumours in whispering trees, south-wind in the larches,
    tall Watchers by the Ford, Shadows on the marches.
    …
    Leggi tutta la voce

    Ebbero canti e allegri racconti

    Laughing they drove away, in Rushey never halting,
    though the inn open stood and they could smell the mailing.
    They turned down Maggot’s Lane, rattling and bumping,
    Tom in the farmer’s cart dancing round and jumping.
    Stars shone on Bamfurlong, and Maggot’s house was lighted;
    fire in the kitchen burned to welcome the benighted.
    …
    Leggi tutta la voce

    Ora un boccale mi devi

    ‘Well, well. Muddy-feet! From one that’s late for meeting
    away back by the Mithe that’s a surly greeting!
    You old farmer fat that cannot walk for wheezing,
    cart-drawn like a sack, ought to be more pleasing.
    Penny-wise tub-on-legs! A beggar can’t be chooser,
    or else I’d bid you go, and you would be the loser.
    …
    Leggi tutta la voce

    Birra della Contea

    Tom slumped along the road, as the light was failing.
    Rushey lamps gleamed ahead. He heard a voice him hailing.
    ‘Whoa there!’ Ponies stopped, wheels halted sliding.
    Tom went plodding past. never looked beside him.
    ‘Ho there! beggarman tramping in the Marish!
    …
    Leggi tutta la voce

    nessuno a salutarlo c’era

    ‘You may call, Woodman Tom. And you can talk your beard off.
    Three arrows in your hat! You we’re not afeared of!
    Where would you go to now? If for beer you’re making,
    the barrels aint deep enough in Breredon for your slaking!’
    …
    Leggi tutta la voce

    Non siate così allegri, voi panciuti nanetti!

    Tom came to Withy-weir. Down the river rushing
    foamed into Windle-reach, a-bubbling and a-splashing;
    bore Tom over stone spinning like a windfall,
    bobbing like a bottle-cork, to the hythe at Grindwall.
    Hoy! Here’s Woodman Tom with his bill-beard on!’
    laughed all the little folk of Hays-end and Breredon.
    …
    Leggi tutta la voce

    Cigno, senti della tua piuma la mancanza?

    Old Swan of Elvet-isle sailed past him proudly,
    gave Tom a black look, snorted at him loudly.
    Tom laughed: ‘You old cob, do you miss your feather?
    Give me a new one then! The old was worn by weather.
    Could you speak a fair word, I would love you dearer:
    long neck and dumb throat, but still a haughty sneerer!
    …
    Leggi tutta la voce
    Back To Top