Jose Asuncion Silva

The lamp that stands beside the
Is not yet lighted to warm the
Of the blueish, opaque light
Through the curtains of late afternoon.

No, that was not passion,
It was the vague
Inspired by a sickly child,
Lang syne, and moon pale nights.

One night one night all full of murmurings, of perfumes and music of wings; one night in which fantastic fireflies burnt in the humid nuptial shadows, slowly by my side, pressed altogether close, silent and pale, as if a presentiment of infinite…

The little girl, though very ill, Went out one
To wander, with faltering footsteps, The nearby hill.
She brought back mountain flowers In which she hidA chrysalis and, unknowing, set it Close beside her bed.
A few days later, at…

Until sunset!
From the dawn!
See the woodsmen of San Juan,
They want bread before it’s gone!

Si en tus recuerdos ves algún díaentre la niebla de lo pasadosurgir la triste memoria míamedio borrada ya por los años,piensa que fuiste siempre mi anheloy si el recuerdo de amor tan santomueve tu pecho; nubla tu cielo,llena de lágrimas tus ojos…