A Sincere Man Am I
A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
I'm a traveller to all parts,
And a newcomer to none:
I am art among the arts,
With the mountains I am one.
I know how to name and class
All the strange flowers that grow;
I know every blade of grass,
Fatal lie and sublime woe.
I have seen through dead of night
Upon my head softly fall,
Rays formed of the purest light
From beauty celestial.
I have seen wings that were surging
From beautiful women's shoulders,
And seen butterflies emerging
From the refuse heap that moulders.
I have known a man to live
With a dagger at his side,
And never once the name give
Of she by whose hand he died.
Twice, for an instant, did I
My soul's reflection espy:
Twice: when my poor father died
And when she bade me good-bye.
I trembled once, when I flung
The vineyard gate, and to my dread,
The wicked hornet had stung
My little girl on the forehead.
I rejoiced once and felt lucky
The day that my jailer came
To read the death warrant to me
That bore his tears and my name.
I hear a sigh across the earth,
I hear a sigh over the deep:
It is no sign reaching my hearth,
But my son waking from sleep.
If they say I have obtained
The pick of the jeweller's trove,
A good friend is what I've gained
And I have put aside love.
I have seen across the skies
A wounded eagle still flying;
I know the cubby where lies
The snake of its venom dying.
I know that the world is weak
And must soon fall to the ground,
Then the gentle brook will speak
Above the quiet profound.
While trembling with joy and dread,
I have touched with hand so bold
A once-bright star that fell dead
From heaven at my threshold.
On my brave heart is engraved
The sorrow hidden from all eyes:
The son of a land enslaved,
Lives for it, suffers and dies.
All is beautiful and right,
All is as music and reason;
And all, like diamonds, is light
That was coal before its season.
I know when fools are laid to rest
Honor and tears will abound,
And that of all fruits, the best
Is left to rot in holy ground.
Without a word, the pompous muse
I've set aside, and understood:
From a withered branch, I choose
To hang my doctoral hood.
The Spanish Dancer
My soul tremulous and forlorn
At nightfall will grow lonely:
There's a show, let us go see
The Spanish dancer perform.
It is well they've taken down
The flag that stood at the door;
For I had vowed that no more
Would I go where it was flown.
The Spanish dancer enters then,
Looking so proud and so pale:
"From Galicia does she hail?"
No, they are wrong: she's from heaven.
She wears the matador's tricorne
And also his crimson cape:
A gilliflower to drape
And with a great hat adorn!
On passing her eyebrows show,
Eyebrows of a traitorous Moor:
And the Moor's proud look she wore:
And her ear was white as snow.
The lights are dimmed, the music flares,
In shawl and gown makes her entrance
The Holy Virgin's own semblance
Dancing to Andalucian airs.
Her head raised in challenge, she
The cape o'er her shoulders spreads:
With her arched arms framing her head,
She taps her foot ardently.
Her studied taps tear the batten
As if each heel were a blade
And the stage had been inlaid
With the broken hearts of men.
The festive feeling is burning
In the fire of her eyes,
The red-speckled shawl now flies
In the air as she is turning.
With a sudden leap, she glides down,
Whirls round, falls back, and then darts:
Wide her cashmere shawl she parts
To offer us her white gown.
All her body yields and sways;
Her open mouth is enticing;
A rose is her mouth: while dancing
She's tapping her heels always.
Then turns she feebly to wind
The long and red-speckled shawl:
And shutting her eyes to all,
In a sigh leaves all behind…
The Spanish dancer has done well;
Red and white was her long shawl;
The tremulous, lonely soul
Withdraws again to its cell!
Pour Out Your Sorrows, My Heart
Pour out your sorrows, my heart,
But let none discover where;
For my pride makes me forbear
My heart's sorrows to impart.
I love you, Verse, my friend true,
Because when in pieces torn
My heart's too burdened, you've borne
All my sorrows upon you.
For me you suffer and bear
Upon your amorous lap
Every anguish, every slap
That my painful love leaves there.
That I may love, in peace with all,
And do good works, as my goal,
You thrash your waves, rise and fall,
With whatever weighs my soul.
That I may cross with fierce stride,
Pure and without hate, this vale,
You drag yourself, hard and pale,
The loving friend at my side.
And so my life its way will wend
To the sky serene and pure,
While you my sorrows endure
And with divine patience tend.
Because I know this cruel habit
Of throwing myself on you
Upsets your harmony true
And tries your gentle spirit;
Because on your breast I've shed
All of my sorrows and torments,
And have whipped your quiet currents,
Which are here white and there red,
And then pale as death become,
At once roaring and attacking,
And then beneath the weight cracking
Of pain it can't overcome: —
Should I the advice have taken
Of a heart so misbegotten,
Would have me leave you forgotten
Who never me has forsaken?
Verse, there's a God, they aver
To whom the dying appealed;
Verse, as one our fates our sealed:
We are damned or saved together!
I'm So Frightfully Unhappy
I'm so frightfully unhappy,
I feel, oh stars, I am dying!:
I want to live, and I'm sighing
A beauteous woman to see.
Like a helmet, her headdress
A beautiful face protects:
Her black hair the light reflects
Like the sword of Damascus.
What of that one?… Well, find all
The world's gall, and then enmesh,
Cover it in so much flesh,
And you have a soul that's all gall!
Well, this one?… What a disgrace!
The creature red slippers wears,
Paints her lips red if she cares,
And puts on a barnished face.
The sorrowful soul then screamed:
Damn you, woman, twice damn you!"
I know not which of the two
The more accursed should be deemed!
The Two Princes
The palace is in mourning,
The king cries on his throne;
The queen is also crying,
She's crying all alone.
In handkerchiefs of pure lace
They cry in disbelief,
The nobles of the palace,
Beside themselves with grief.
The royal horses, once so bright,
Are now in black-array:
The horses did not eat last night —
Nor wanted food today.
The courtyard's stately laurel tree
Is stripped of all its leaves:
The people of the country
All carry laurel wreaths.
The king's son has died today:
The king's heir has passed away.
Upon the hill, the shepherd
Has built his simple home:
The shepherdess to ask is heard:
"Why does the sun still come?"
With lowered heads, the sheep
Approach the shepherd's door:
A box he's lining, long and deep,
Upon the cottage floor.
A sad dog keeps watch there;
From the hut is heard a moan:
"Little bird, take me where
My precious one has flown."
The weeping shepherd takes the spade,
And sinks it in the bower,
And in the hole that he has made
The shepherd lays his flower.
The shepherd's son has died today,
The shepherd's heir has passed away.
I Have a Dead Friend
I have a dead friend who lately
Has begun to visit me:
My friend sits down and sings to me,
Sings to me so dolefully.
"Upon the double-winged bird's back
I am rowing through skies of blue:
One of the bird's wings is black,
The other, gold of Cariboo."
"The heart's a madman that abhors
One color as one too few:
Either its love is two colors,
Or else it is not love's hue."
"There's a madwoman more savage
Than is the unhappy heart:
She that sucks the blood in rage,
And then a-laughing would start."
"A heart that has lost forever
The steadfast anchor of home,
Sails like a ship in fould weather,
And knows not to go or come."
If his anguish should betray him,
The dead man will curse and weep:
I pat his skull and I lay him,
Lay the dead man down to sleep.
big city love
Gorja are and speed of time:
The voice spreads like light; in high needle
Which ship plunged into sirte horrendous
The lightning sinks, and in a light boat
The man, as winged, the air splits.
So love, without pomp or mystery
Die, barely born, of sated!
Cage is the village of dead pigeons
And avid hunters! if the breasts
They break from men, and meats
Broken on the ground they roll, they should not be seen
Inside more than crushed strawberries!
One loves standing, in the streets, among the dust
Of the halls and the squares: die
The flower the day it is born. that virgin
Tremulous that before death gave
The pure hand that the young man ignored;
The joy of fear; that get out
From the chest the heart; the ineffable
Pleasure to deserve; the pleasant fright
To walk quickly straight
From the home of the beloved, and to her doors
Like a happy child bursting into tears;—
And that look, give our love to the fire,
Go dyeing the roses color,—
Hey, they are bullshit! So who has
Time to be hidalgo? feel good
Like a golden glass or sumptuous canvas
Gentle lady in tycoon's house!
Or if you are thirsty, you stretch out your arm
And to the glass that passes, he rushes it!
Then the cloudy cup rolls to dust,
And the skilful taster,— stained the chest
Of an invisible blood,—continue to be happy
Crowned with myrtle, his way!
They are not the bodies anymore but waste,
And pits and shreds! and the souls
They are not like rich fruit on the tree
In whose soft skin the sweet syrup
In its season of maturity it overflows,—
But fruit of the square that to brutal
Bangs the rough mature labrador!
Is this the age of the dry lips!
Of sleepless nights! Of the life
Crushed in agraz! What is missing
What luck is missing? like hare
Bewildered, the spirit hides,
Trembling fleeing the laughing hunter,
Which in jungle forest, in our chest;
And Desire, arm in arm with Fever,
Like a rich hunter walks through the grove.
The city scares me! everything is full
Of cups to empty, or hollow cups!
I am afraid, woe is me! what this came from
Cough it be, and in my veins later
Which avenging goblin the key teeth!
I am thirsty, —more of a wine than on earth
You don't know how to drink! I have not suffered
Enough still, to break the wall
That separates me oh pain! of my vineyard!
Take ye vile tasters
Of human vinyl, those glasses
Where the lily juice in large sips
Without compassion and without fear you drink!
Take! I am honest, and I am afraid!
I think when I'm glad
I think, when I'm happy
Like a simple schoolboy,
In the yellow canary,—
Who has such a black eye!
I want, when I die,
Without a country, but without a master,
Have a bouquet on my slab
Of flowers—and a flag!
I Who Live Though I Have Died
I who live though I have died,
Claim a great discovery,
For last night I verified
Love is the best remedy.
When weighed by the cross, a man
Resolves to die for the right;
He does all the good he can,
And returns bathed in the light.
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