Free of memory and of hope,limitless, abstract, almost future,the dead man is not a dead man: he is death
Like the God of the mystics,of Whom anything that could be said must be denied,the dead one, alien everywhere,is but the ruin and absenc...
With lingering love she gazed at the
Colors of dusk
It pleased her
To lose herself in the complex
Oh destiny of Borgesto have sailed across the diverse seas of the worldor across that single and solitary sea of diversenames, to have been a part of Edinburgh, of Zurich, of thetwo Cordobas, of Colombia and of Texas, to have returned at the end o...
Of all the streets that blur in to the sunset,
There must be one (which,
I am not sure)That I by now have walked for the last
Without guessing it, the pawn of that
Oh days devoted to the useless burdenof putting out of mind the biography of a minor poet of the Southem Hemisphere, to whom the fates or perhaps the stars have givena body which will leave behind no child, and blindness, which is semi-darkness an...
No quedará en la noche una estrella
No quedará la noche
Moriré y conmigo la suma del intolerable universo
Borraré las pirámides, las medallas, los continentes y las caras
When sorrow lays us lowfor a second we are savedby humble windfallsof the mindfulness or memory:the taste of a fruit, the taste of water,that face given back to us by a dream,the first jasmine of November,the endless yearning of the compass,a book...
In these red labyrinths of LondonI find that I have chosenthe strangest of all callings,save that, in its way, any calling is strange
Like the alchemistwho sought the philosopher's stonein quicksilver,
I shall make everyday words—the gam...
Throughout the course of the generationsmen constructed the night
At first she was blindness; thorns raking bare feet,fear of wolves
We shall never know who forged the wordfor the interval of shadow dividing the two twilights;we shall ne...
Was there a Garden or was the Garden a dream
Amid the fleeting light,
I have slowed myself and queried,
Almost for consolation, if the bygone
Dónde estarán los siglos, dónde el sueñode espadas que los tártaros soñaron,dónde los fuertes muros que allanaron,dónde el Árbol de Adán y el otro Leño
El presente está solo
La memoriaerige el tiempo
Sucesión y engañoes la rutina de...
If I could live again my life,
In the next - I'll try,- to make more mistakes,
I won't try to be so perfect,
I'll be more relaxed,