I have marked this day in the depths of my heart as the sweetest of days; "Separated from the rest of my sad hours I will not say why, for now because that is my secret, I must say; however, the skies are soft and tender, and never before, I know very well, Earth was filled with such splendor.
Oh, too late for love, late for joy, Late, too late! You have wandered on the road for a long time You hesitated at the door: The enchanted dove on the branch He died without a partner; The enchanted princess in her tower He slept behind bars; His heart shrank weighing While you forced her to wait.
When you see millions of the dead without a mouth Across your dreams in pale battalions Do not utter words soft as other men, Well, no need to. No gifts will praise how the deaf can learn That are not curses which accumulate in their heads? Nor tears, her blind eyes can not see your tears. Neither honor, it is easy to be dead. Just say this: They are dead, and then adds: Many best have died before. He sees how many tight And perceive a face that you once loved. A spectrum. No one saw her face dropped. The Big Death has snatched the long.
Why should I complain after winning? For the grace of his spirit vestal Encourages me to pursue it tirelessly, And, like a ghost, eludes my arms; So intense is his masculinity to be seen It's like kissing the hand of a King Caricia not conform any familiarity; It just marks the height The latter can claim negligence, Just as the humble men harass Grace mistaken for recklessness; Then the favors fed with warm The loyalty of a great love Ever there presumption differs The event or word.
When you enter the dark shadow lost a voice whispers its sad disturbing calm if in the depths of my soul I hear sweet sound,
Tell me, is that the wind in their turns complains, or that your sighs I speak of love to go?
When the sun in my window morning shines red and my love your shadow evokes if in my mouth another mouth I feel the impression.
Today they have returned. For all the paths of the night have been to mourn in my bed. So many, so many! I do not know what they live, I do not know what is dead. I cry myself to mourn all. The night baby crying as a black scarf. There are golden heads in the sun like ripe ... There are heads touched by shadow and mystery, a thorn-crowned head invisible, blush rose heads of dreaming heads bent to cushion abyss heads who would rest in heaven, some that fail to smell spring and many that go beyond the flowers of winter. All those heads ache and sores ... I hurt or dead.
In my white canoe, like the silvery air On the River of Death goes dark, When the moons of the world are circular, I rowed back from the Campo de las Almas. And when the wishes of the low marsh was distressing, Come the dark feathers of the Singing Leaves.
Two hundred times the moons of spring Azure breath rolled over the bay, Decorated with eagle's wings, Painting my face with the ink of death, And the cane broke over my dead body The solemn blue rings, the last smoke.
i hope, with eyes open; I covered half of the earthy desert Behind it hides my steps Many vanity and some remorse; I have lived to feel the pride of spirits Anchored to one another as the hand glove I flushed the castle of love I never disbelieved him, yet my heart Never refused to love, the only mortal thing Whose value is eternal, immortal; I never had in mind the errors, Sing wastes terrors Unworthy of a serious song; And love is my reward.
Listen! From the battlements of the distant towers The solemn bell has beaten at midnight! Carried away by visions of restless sleep, Broderick Poor awake, and laments alone.
Cease, Memory, cease (without friends and distressed cries) To redress these severe chest overwhelmed with evidence. Oh, my soul never ceases to wander pensive In the bright fields of Fortune, in better days When the hope was young, and the music of the mind He praised all her charms, and Errington was nice.
In your dreams roofed room, make waste flowers and lights in spirit, my soul driveway dressed in silence and calm, you go to the darkest path tonight.
Turn off the spark plugs to see beautiful things; close all doors to enter the illusion; the mystery begins a handful of stars And Bloom as a triumphant glass your heart.
And wait smiling and crying wait! ... when my soul, thinking maybe pray that heaven is poured gently on your chest ...
For him, divine love, have a quiet couch or mystic lily is his weapon, my soul Off one by one the roses in your bed!