Project 5

Inviernal

Noche. Este viento vagabundo lleva las alas entumidas, y heladas. El gran Andes yergue al inmenso azul su blanca cima. La nieve cae en copos, sus rosas trasparentes cristaliza; en la ciudad, los delicados hombros y gargantas se abrigan; ruedan y van los coches, suenan alegres pianos, el gas brilla; y, si no hay un fogón que caliente, el que es pobre tirita.

Yo estoy con mis radiantes ilusiones y mis nostalgias íntimas, junto a la chimenea bien harta de tizones que crepitan. Y me pongo a pensar: ¡oh si estuviese ella, la de mis ansias infinitas, la de mis sueños locos, y mis azules noches pensativas! ¿Cómo? Mirad: De la apacible estancia en la extensión tranquila vertería la lámpara reflejos de luces opalinas. 

Dentro, el amor que abrasa; fuera, la noche fría; el golpe de la lluvia en los cristales, y el vendedor que grita su monótona y triste melopea a las glaciales brisas; dentro, la ronda de mil delirios, las canciones de notas cristalinas, unas manos que toquen mis cabellos, un aliento que roce mis mejillas, un perfume de amor, mil conmociones, mil ardientes caricias; ella y yo; los dos juntos, los dos solos; la amada y el amado, ¡oh Poesía! los besos de sus labios, la música de mis rimas y en la negra y cercana chimenea el tuero brillador que estalla en chispas. 

Winter

Night. This wandering wind carries the wings numb, and frosty. The great Andes rises to the immense blue of its white summit. The snow falls in flakes, its transparent roses crystallize; in the city, the delicate shoulders and throats warm up; cars roll and go, joyful pianos sound, the gas shines; and, if there is no stove that warms, the one that is poor band-aid.

I am with my radiant illusions and my intimate nostalgias, by the fireplace well fed up with crackling blades. And I start to think: oh if only she were there, the one with my infinite longings, the one with my crazy dreams, and my blue thoughtful nights! How? Look: From the peaceful stay in the quiet extension I would pour the lamp reflections of opal lights.

Inside, the love that burns; outside, the cold night; the blow of the rain on the crystals, and the salesman who shouts his monotonous and sad melope to the icy breezes; inside, the round of a thousand delusions, the songs of crystalline notes, hands that touch my hair, a breath that touches my cheeks, a perfume of love, a thousand shocks, a thousand burning caresses; her and me; the two together, the two alone; the beloved and the beloved, oh Poetry! the kisses of his lips, the music of my rhymes and in the black and nearby fireplace the shining bush that explodes in sparks.

Winter

Night. This wandering wind wears its wings numb, and icy. The great Andes rises to the immense blue its white summit. Snow falls in flakes, its transparent roses crystallizes; in the city, the delicate shoulders and throats are sheltered; roll and go the cars, sound happy pianos, the gas shines; and, if there is not a stove that warm, the one that is poor band-aid.

I am with my radiant illusions and my intimate nostalgias, by the fireplace full of crackling blight. And I start to think: oh if it were her, the one of my infinite desires, the one of my crazy dreams, and my blue thoughtful nights! How? Mirad: From the peaceful stay in the quiet extension would pour the lamp reflections of opaline lights.

Inside, the love that burns; outside, the cold night; the blow of rain on the crystals, and the seller shouting his monotonous and sad melopea to the glacial breezes; inside, the round of a thousand delusions, the songs of crystalline notes, hands touching my hair, a breath rubbing my cheeks, a perfume of love, a thousand shocks, a thousand burning caresses; she and I; the two together, the two alone; the beloved and the beloved, O Poetry! the kisses of his lips, the music of my rhymes and in the black and close chimney the brilliant one that bursts into sparks.