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viernes, 30 de agosto de 2013

LOVE FEELS ..............

Awake. Rhymes Becquer.

The dark swallows will return 
on your balcony to hang their nests, 
and again with wing crystals 
playing call. 

But those who refrained flight 
your beauty and my happiness, 
those who learned our names ... 
Those ... never again!. 

They will return the dense honeysuckle 
your garden walls to climb, 
and again in the evening even more beautiful 
its flowers open. 

But those, curds Dew 
whose drops watched tremble 
and fall like tears of the day ...

Those ... will not return!

They return the love to your ears
fiery sounding words;
your heart from its slumber
maybe wake.

But silent, absorbed and knees
as God is worshiped at its altar,
as I have loved you ...; kid yourself,
Well ... you will not want to!


Because they are girl your eyes
green as the sea, you complain;
the greens are the nymphs,
Minerva took the green,
and green are the pupils
houris of the Prophet.

Green is gala and Ornaments
forest in the spring;
among its seven colors
Iris bright displaying it
emeralds are green;
green color than expected
and ocean waves
and the laurel of poets.

It's your cheek early
Pink covered glitters,
carmine in petals
looks at through the beads.

I know you complain

because your eyes
think that disfigure,
believe it not.

They seem his pupils
wet, green and restless
almond leaves early
that the breath of the air tremble.

It's your mouth Ruby
purple open Granada
in the summer invites
to quench thirst with it,

I know you complain
because your eyes
think that disfigure,
believe it not.

They seem, if angry
your twinkling eyes,
ocean waves breaking
rocks in the Cantabrian.

It's your forehead crown
curly wide gold braid,
snowy summit in the day
its last light reflects.

I know you complain
because your eyes
disfigure you think:
believe it not.

Between the flanges blonde
with temples resemble
emerald and gold brooches
holding a white ermine.

Because they are girl your eyes
green as the sea you complain;
maybe if black or blue
is tornasen, mean it.


I know a strange giant anthem
Advertising on the night of the soul an aurora,
and these pages are the hymn
cadences that air expands in the shadows.

I wanted to write, man
taming unruly, mean language
words that were at once
sighs and laughter, colors and notes.

But it is vain to fight, no figure
able to lock him up; and just, oh, beautiful!,
if, having my hands yours,
could, ear, you cantártelo alone.


Your eyes are blue, and when you laugh,
I clearly remember her soft
the shimmering glow of the morning

which is reflected in the sea.

Your eyes are blue, and when you cry,
it tears transparent
I will include dew drops
on a violet.

Your eyes are blue, and if your background
as a point of light radiates an idea,
I think in the evening sky
a lost star.


Peered into his eyes a tear
and my lip a sentence of forgiveness;
spoke the pride and wiped her tears,
and the phrase on my lips expired.

I'm going on a road; she, on the other;
but, thinking of our love,
I still say: - Why was silent that day?
They will say: - Why did not I cry?


Kiss the aura moaning softly
mild waves playing ruffles;
the sun kisses the cloud in the West
purple and gold and the nuances;
flame burning round the trunk
for kissing another flame slides;
and to the willow, bending to their weight,
the river kissing him a kiss back.


They closed their eyes
that was still open,
they covered his face
with a white cloth,
and a sobbing,
other in silence,
Sad alcove
all departed.

The light in a glass
burned to the ground,
threw the wall
the shadow of the bed;
and from that shadow
could be seen at intervals
drawn rigid
body shape.

Awoke the day
and, at the first dawn,
with a thousand noises
wake up people.
Before that contrast
of life and mystery,
of light and darkness,
I thought a moment:

- My God, how lonely
are the dead! 

From the house, on shoulders,
brought it out to the temple
and a chapel
let the coffin.

There they surrounded
pale remains
yellow candles
and black cloths.

By giving of Souls
the last touch,
ended an old
their last prayers,
crossed the wide nave,
doors groaned,
and holy place
desert abode.

Heard a clock
compasado the pendulum,
and some candles
the sizzle.
So fearful and sad,
so dark and stiff
everything was
I thought a moment:

My God, how lonely
are the dead!

High bell
iron tongue
I gave flipping
his plaintive goodbye.
The mourning clothes,
friends and relatives
crossed in row
forming courtship.

The last asylum
dark, narrow,
opened the ax
niche to an end.
There's chatter,
tapiáronle then
and a greeting
took leave bereavement.

Piquette shoulder
the undertaker,
singing through clenched teeth,
was lost in the distance.
The night is coming,
the sun was set;
lost in the shadows
I thought a moment:

My God, how lonely
are the dead!

In the long nights
the icy,
when timber
wind rustling ago
Lashes and Glasses
the heavy downpour,
the poor girl
sometimes I remember.

There falls the rain

a are eternal;
battle there
the breath of the north wind.
Wet wall
lying in the gap, 

Cold case
freeze their bones ...!

Are you returning dust to dust?
Flies soul to heaven?
Everything is spiritless
rot and slime?
I do not know; but something
I can not explain,
although it is hard to do so,
so sad to leave,
alone as the dead.


How many times, at the foot of the mossy
walls as keep
I heard that mediate shearing night
call to matins!

How often traced my silhouette
the silvery moon,
next to the cypress, which your garden
looks over the walls!

When shadows enveloped the church,
puff its warhead,
Shake many times over glasses
I saw the glow of the lamp!

Although the wind in the dark corners
the whistle tower
between the voices of the choir perceived
vibrant and clear voice.

On winter nights, if a fearful
the empty square
dared to cross, to divisarme
step quickened.

And did not miss an old woman on the lathe
say in the morning,
that certain sacristan dead in sin
I was perhaps the soul.

A dark corner knew
atrium and the cover;
my feet nettles that grow there
maybe stored fingerprints.

Owls, who were terrified me
with eyes of flame,
came to me with the time
like a good comrade.

Beside me fearless reptiles
moved to crawl;
until the mute granite saints
I think that greeted me.


Of living in the dark corner,
its owner perhaps forgotten,
Silent and dust cover
could be seen the harp.

Note slept much on its strings
as the bird sleeps in the branches,
awaiting the hand of snow
who knows pluck!

Ay! I thought; How many times the genius
and sleeping in the depths of the soul,
and a voice, like Lazarus, wait
you say, "Get up and walk."


Sighs are air and go into the air.
Tears are water and go to sea.
Tell me woman when love is forgotten,
Do you know where it goes?


Do not say that, exhausted his treasure,
issues missing, the lira fell silent;
may not be poets; but always
will be poetry.

While waves of light kiss
ignites the heart,
while the sun torn clouds
of fire and gold,
while the air in its lap
perfumes and harmonies,
while there is spring in the world,
Will be poetry!

While science does not discover
sources of life,
and in the sea or in the sky there is a gulf
calculation that resist,
while always advancing humanity
not know where it walks,
while there is a mystery to man,
Will be poetry!

While we feel that the soul rejoices,
without the lips smiling;
while cry without tears go
to cloud the eyes;
while the heart and head
continue struggling,
while there is hope and memories,
Will be poetry!

While there are eyes reflecting
eyes looking at them,
while sighing respond lip
the lips that sigh,
while in a kiss can feel
two confused souls,
while there is a beautiful woman,
Will be poetry!


Giant waves that you break bellowing
in remote and deserted beaches
wrapped between the sheets of foam,
Away with you!

Gusts hurricane snatch
High forest decayed leaves,
entrained in the vortex blind,
Away with you!

Cloud lightning storm breaks
Ornais fire and you bloody fringes,
caught between the dark fog,
Away with you!.

Take me, for pity's sake, where vertigo
the reason I start with memory.
For pity's sake! I'm afraid to stay
alone with my pain!. Becquer I love to hate their own

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