Capitolo 37
And once more lie in a pink-festooned the illusion
With gentleness in their eyes. . .
They says (as us we have said, memoirs)
'What a magic these jobs of slow waltz on us!
Be as suited for minding forgotten things!'
They says 'As strange it is that such an evening
Can wake up again memoirs vague of so a lot of springs!'
And so they goes. . . In thousand crowded places,
They sits to smile and to speak, or it rises to ragtime,
And, for their pleasures, both of accord or doesn't agree.
With their secret symbols they play on secret passions.
With astute eyes they sees
The innocent word that puts memory trembling,
The equivocal word that puts the afraid heartbeat. . .
The pendulum on the wall
It shakes down second. . . They laughs to duration, while dissimulating;
Or it winds for a victim and he/she doesn't speak at all.
X. LETTER
At times, lifting his/her eyes, he sees
The blue and soft light of the stars through the small one of the one window,
The moon above of black trees and clouds and Venus,--
And it turns to write. . . The clock, behind check marks slightly.
It is so long, indeed, from when I have written,--
Two years, almost the Your last one is becoming yellow,--
What these first words that I write seem cold and strange.
Is it the men that I have known, or has you/he/she altered?
Altered, clearly--in the moment in which I have also altered--
And if I pour each other, or more separately,
We cannot say. . . I have king-read as soon as Your letter--
Not through forgetfulness, but more please--
Pondering a lot on all you tell him
Of mystical conscience--divine conversion--
The sense of the oneness with the endless one,--
Faith in the world, his/her beauty and his/her purpose. . .
Well, you believe that one has to have faith, in of the kind,
If one is to speak through this satisfied dark world.
But is the world so dark? Or it is rather it
Our own beast minds,--in which we expedite, while trembling,
Through roads as he/she anchors unlighted? This, I think.
You has always been, allows me to say, "romantic,"--
Anxious for color, for the beauty soon displeased