Capitolo 31
What does it mould fantastic dreams, terrible? . . .
I go my secret way, down secret alleys;
My errand is not so simple as it seems.
YOU. PORTRAIT OF A CORPSE
This is the house. One sides there is obscurity,
One sides there is light.
In the obscurity you can lift Your lanterns--
Or, some number--still it will be evening.
And here that it plays again steps for descending condurrLa
To salt sonorous and long.
And here is spring forever to these windows,
With roses on the walls.
This is his/her room. One sides there is music--
One don't side a sound.
To a footstep she could stir from hooks to make to keep silent,
Hears innumerable obscurity that winds round.
And here are balconies to which she talked her,
His/her consolidates footsteps on the step.
And here the glass in which she saw Your shade
As her untied his/her hair.
Here is the room--with walls dissolving ghostly--
The room of twilight where she called her 'the person in love';
And the floorlesses lodge in that she called her 'the friend.'
Then a lot of times, her raced uncertain, among them!--
Through windy corridors to darken end.
Here she could be standing with a weak light above of her
And it feels far music as a sea in the caverns,
You murmur away to walls dug of stone.
And here, in a room without roof where it was raining,
You bore alone the pluvius patient pain.
Your words were walls that suddenly they froze around her.
Your words were windows,--great enough for clear of moon,
Too much small to do her/it through.
Your letters--fragrant faint of cloisters with music.
The music that the era has assuaged her there.
How much it calculates her it felt Your footstep ascending
Ever anchor the saw Your face!
You felt them turn again, you slowly encircle more weak,
Up to silence the place swept.
Because you/he/she had gone? . . . The door, perhaps wrong. . .
You would go elsewhere. The deep walls were shaken.
A certain pink-leaf--it sent without intention--
Become, with time, a web plotted of fire--
You brought him/it, and it were warm.
A certain expedited look, makes fall to dividing,
Become, with time, the flashings of a storm.