Capitolo 40
fallen on the family, black servants cry, them owner looks for
I shelter in headache and smell salts, father's touches you last a
strange, an uncontrollable welling on small memoirs. He loves the
hairy and gilded boy; him as soon as he/she knew him/it before. If he could only feel
once more the happy laughter, the noise and the cackle! But he is not able
feel him/it some more; he won't hear again never the voice of his/her child. Child has
passed in the far-by the Thought-world. Child is only now a dream and a
memory, only the memory of a music that nobody is felt more. Child
you/he/she has crossed that bourns cloudy, storm-checked of speculation and fear
where we am all minding.
Some white bones on a solitary sand,
A dead body that to decompose himself/herself/themselves under of the grass of lawn,
That cannot feel the footsteps as them they pass,
Commemorative urns pressed from of the foolish hand
You/he/she has been for the whole destination of fears of troublous,
Ah! hearts that break and eyes of weak faint with torn wounds,
And the momentary hope from framed breezes
To blaze that ever fading again falls,
It is leaves but blacker night and the deepest pain,
You/he/she has been the soil of the life in every earth.
Child is always planted out for in the dampness and small cemetery covered with weeds
that lies to the outskirts of the station where he lived and it died.
Those gilded curls, those soft and round edges and that laughing
you speak to emphatic way, it is abandoned to the obscurity and the eternal hunger of the corruption.
Through light of the sun and it rains, through the long days in summer, through
the long nights in winter, for never, for Child ever, lies silent and
dreamless under that undulant grass. The bee cantarellerà aloft for
always, and the swallow throws a look among the cypress. The wish of butterfly
you flutter for age and age among the flowers of line--Child will still lie
there. Comes away, comes away; Your cheeks are pale; you/he/she cannot be, us