These were selected by their subjects look familiar.
·············································· ················································ V ·················································
············································· unnamed Spirit ,
indefinable essence
I live life forms
no idea.
I swim in a vacuum
sun
tremble at the stake in the shadows throb and float
s footsteps, and I know
those empires that neither the name remains.
I follow in swift vertigo
worlds that turn, and my ward covers
creation.
I know of these regions
a rumor do not arrive, and where reports
stars expect a breath of life.
I am over the abyss
the bridge that crosses;
I am the unknown scale
the sky joins the earth.
I am the invisible ring that holds the world
the world how the idea.
I am, finally, that spirit, essence
unknown, mysterious perfume
glass that is the poet.
···················Lazarus
expected to say: "Rise up and walk!
················································ XI
··············································
· ··················································
···········································
"I'm burning I am black,
I am the symbol of passion, lust for pleasures
of my soul is full.
do I seek?
"Not you, no.
"My face is pale, my hair of gold I can give you such
endless
me with tenderness guardo a treasure.
do I call?
"No, not you.
"I am a dream, an impossibility,
vain phantom of mist and light;
'm incorporeal, intangible am:
I can not love.
- Oh come, come you!
················································ XV
··············································
· ··················································
···········································
light mist floating Cendal ,
curly white foam tape, sound rumor
harp of gold,
········································
I against my interest to confess;
however, my love, which you
think that an ode is good only
a ticket written on the back bench.
never want to hear some fool
is made crosses and say
"Woman at the end of the nineteenth century and prosaic material
" ... Nonsense! Voices
run four poets do in winter
clog the lyre!
Barking dogs at the moon!
You know and I know in this life,
is told with genius who writes, and with gold
anyone makes poetry.
···················································································· XXX
··········
····································· ··················································
·······
came into her eyes a tear and my lips
a sentence of forgiveness ...
spoke proudly and wiped her tears,
and the phrase on my lips expired.
I go on a road, she on the other; but the thought of our mutual love, I say again: "Why are you silent on that day?"
and she'll say. "Why can not I cry?"
·······························your guilt and your spoil
save the earth,
by washing in waves
death as another Jordan.
There, where the murmur of trembling
life will die, as the wave
that the beach is quiet
expire.
Where the tomb is closed forever open
...
All we have both silent
we have to talk!
················································ XLI ··············································
· ·················································· ······························································ ······
L
········································· ·················································· · · ·
What the clumsy hand wild with a trunk
ago on a whim a god
then kneels before his work, we did
you and me. Dimos
real forms a ghost,
ridiculous invention of the mind, and made the idol
already sacrificed on the altar
our love.
················································ ··········MLXC the dull brain intelligence
asleep in a corner.
The soul, which aspires to paradise,
looking for him without faith, without purpose
fatigue, rolling wave ignoring why. Voice
continuing the same tone
sings the same song;
monotonous drop of water falls, and falls steadily
.
So the days go gliding
towards each other,
today same as yesterday ... and all unpaid
or pain.
Ah, sometimes I remember the old
suffering sigh ...
Bitter is the pain, but even
suffering is to live!
················································ · · ·LVII
··········································
· · · · ··················································
········································
This frame of skin and bone
a madcap ride is finally tired and do not miss it;
because, although it is true that I'm not old,
the part of life that touches me
in the life of the world, for my injury I
made an application such that
swear I condensed a century in each day.
Thus, although now died, not say that I have not lived;
the coat, apparently was againra,
know that inside has aged.
You are old, yes, despite my star!, Says
tired and my desire suffering;
about the pain that spend their horrible track record
in the heart, if not the front. ················································ LVIII
··············································
· ··················································
···········································
Do you want that
delicious nectar will not embitter the dregs?
as aspírale, near your
lips and let later.
Want
retain a sweet memory of this love? So let us love
today and tomorrow
much let us say goodbye!
················································ LX
··············································
· ··················································
··········································· My life is a wasteland , flower touch the leaves are removed;
in my way someone is spreading fatal
evil for me to collect.
· · · ·
··············
Night came and I found a haven,
...!, I was thirsty and drank my tears;
and I was hungry! The eyes swollen shut
to die!
was in a desert! Although to my ear of the mob came the hoarse boil, I was an orphan and poor ... The world was
desert ... for me!
················································ LXVI
··············································
· ·················································· ····································tremble on the glass is
saw the glow of the lamp!
Although the wind in the dark corners of the tower
whistle,
voices of the choir between perceived
vibrant and clear voice.
On winter nights, if a fearful the deserted plaza
dared to cross, to make out,
accelerated step.
And an old woman who failed in about a week
say that some clerk dead in sin I was
soul.
knew the dark corners of the court
and cover;
my feet the nettles that grow there maybe traces
saved.
Owls, who frightened me with his eyes still
flames,
came to me with
time as a good comrade.
to me without fear of reptiles dragged
moved;
to the mute granite saints
think greeted me!
··············································· ·················································· ··················································
·········································
And also because (do not know to you) I stirred from within, not only for what they express, if not as Becquer language flowed pa
