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WINTER

This poem describes a winter night in which the narrator is alone by the fireplace, thinking of his absent beloved. He imagines how it would be if she were there with him, sharing caresses and kisses while snow falls outside. He longs for the warmth of love against the cold of the night.
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0% found this document useful (0 votes)
33 views5 pages

WINTER

This poem describes a winter night in which the narrator is alone by the fireplace, thinking of his absent beloved. He imagines how it would be if she were there with him, sharing caresses and kisses while snow falls outside. He longs for the warmth of love against the cold of the night.
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd

WINTER

Night. This wandering wind carries


The numb wings
And frost. The great Andes
It raises its white peak to the immense blue.
The snow falls in flakes,
Their transparent roses crystallize,
In the city, the delicate shoulders
And throats are kept warm;
The cars roll and go,
Cheerful pianos play, the gas shines;
And if there is no stove to warm you,
The one who is poor suffers.

I am with my radiant dreams


And my intimate nostalgias,
By the fireplace
Quite fed up with the crackling embers.
And I start to think:

Oh, if I were
She, the one of my infinite desires,
The one of my crazy dreams,
Oh my thoughtful blue nights!
What! Look:

From the peaceful stay


In the tranquil expanse,
I would spill the lamp reflections
Of opaline lights.
Inside, the love that burns;
Outside, the cold night,
The sound of the rain on the windows,
And the seller who shouts
His monotonous and sad melody
To the glacial breezes;
Inside, the round of my thousand delusions
The songs of crystalline notes,
Hands that touch my hair,
A breath that brushes my cheeks,
A perfume of love, a thousand emotions,
A thousand burning caresses,
She and I: both together, both alone;
The beloved and the lover, oh Poetry!
The kisses of her lips,
The triumphant music of my rhymes,
And in the dark and nearby chimney
The shining torch that bursts into sparks.
Oh, may the brazier be blessed
Full of gems!
Topaz and garnets,
Rubies and amethysts
In the wide Etruscan cup
Filled with ash.
The sheltered beds,
The fluffy pillows,
The Astrakhan skins, the warm kisses
What warm and moist mouths give.
Oh, old winter, hail!
Since you bring with the frigid snows
The intoxicating love
And the wine of pleasure in your backpack.

Yes, she would be by my side,


Giving me their smiles,
Her, the one who is missing from my verses,
That which my brain imagines;
The one that, if I am in dreams,
He/She approaches and visits me;
She who is beautiful, has
An ideal meat, large pupils,
Something of the marble, white light of a star;
Nervous, sensitive,
Shows the gentle and delicate neck
From the ancient Hebes;
Beautiful gestures of a goddess,
Terse nymph's arms,
Lustrous hair
In the curly and gathered nape,
And dark circles that reveal
Deep longings and vivid passions.
Ah, to see her embodied,
For enjoying your caresses,
For feeling on my lips
I would give my life for the kisses of his love!
Meanwhile, it's cold.
I contemplate the flames that sway,
Singing joyfully with their golden tongues,
Mobile, capricious and restless,
In the dark and close fireplace
The shining torch bursts into sparks.

Then I think about the chorus


Of the joyful lyres,
In the engraved cup the black wine,
The boiling cup whose edges shine
With trembling and changing irises
Like a necklace of prisms;
The black wine that ignites the blood
And puts the heart with joy,
And it makes the crazy poets write
Golden sonnets and brilliant silvas.
Winter is boozy.
When their breezes blow,
The old casks are bursting.
The blood of the vineyards.
Yes, I will paint your gray hair.
Adorned with a crown of vine leaves.
Winter is a jailer,
Because on cold nights
Paolo kisses Francesca
In the burning mouth,
While her blood runs like fire
And the burning heart beats for him.
Oh, raw Winter, hail!
Since you bring with the frigid snows
The intoxicating love
And the wine of pleasure in your backpack.

Fiery youth,
Glances and caresses:
How she would tremble in my arms
My sweet beloved,
Giving me sacred light with her eyes,
With its floral aroma, divine sap!
In the bedroom the lamp
Pouring out their opaline lights;
Hearing only
Sighs, echoes, laughter;
The sound of kisses,
The triumphant music of my rhymes
And in the black and nearby chimney
The shining firecracker that bursts into sparks.
Inside, the love that burns;
Outside, the cold night.
AUTUMN THOUGHT
From Armand Silvestre

The year flees to its end


Like a stream that passes,
Carrying from the west
Fugitive and pale light.
And just like that of the bird
How sad the wing tends,
The flight of memory
That which is launched into space
Languishes in the vast
From the blue where it wanders.
The year flees to its end
Like a stream that flows.

A something of the soul still strays


For the dead chalices
Of the changeable afternoons
And the trembling rose bushes.
And from distant lights
To the deep firmament,
On the wings of perfume
A dream still lingers.
A bit of soul still wanders
Through the dead chalices.

Farewell song
The turbulent sources began to flow.
If you please, my love,
Let's go back to the road
That there in the spring
Both, hands together,
We continue, intoxicated
Of love and tenderness,
Through the pleasant paths
Their branches sway
Smelly avenues
That flowers scent.
Farewell song
The murky sources began to flicker.

A song of loves
My burning chest emerges
What an eternal fruitful April
It blossoms in youth.
May they die, in good time,
The beautiful days! I arrived
Another winter;
Be reborn rough and strong.
Of the wind among the whimpering,
What a magical joyous anthem,
A song of loves
My burning chest erupts.

A song of loves
O your sacred beauty,
Woman, eternal summer,
Immortal spring!
Sister of the fiery star
That for the immensity
In every season it pours
Fecundo, tirelessly,
From its radiant light
The golden torrent.
A song of loves
To your sacred beauty,
Woman, eternal summer
Immortal spring!
THE IDEAL

And then, an ivory tower, a mystic flower, a star to whom


fall in love... It happened, I saw her like one sees a dawn, fleeting, fast,
implacable.

It was an ancient statue like a soul peering into the eyes,


angelic eyes, all tenderness, all blue sky, all mystery.

She felt that I was kissing her with my looks and punished me with the
majesty of her beauty, and saw me as a queen and as a
dove. But she passed by breathtaking, triumphant, like a vision that
dazzles. And I, the poor painter of Nature and of Psyche,
maker of rhythms and aerial castles, I saw the luminous dress of
the fairy, the star of her tiara and I thought of the longed-for promise
of beautiful love. But of that supreme and fatal ray only remained
in the depths of my brain a woman's face, a blue dream.

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