Capitolo 47
Who are these pilgrims that are these,
These three, that of who standing right is,
While one lies crying and one of their strip?
Does her that he has turned it was a wounded face,
I felt the drip of blood on stones. . . .
Clogs had stamped on and you/they had lacerated this place,
And the leaves were strewn with blood and bones.
I sometimes, think, under of my feet,
Warm earth stretches sighs and she. . . .
Listening! I felt the slow heartbeat. . . .
I will lie on this grass as a loving lies
And it reaches the north and it reaches the south
And it looks for in the obscurity for his/her mouth.
* * * * *
Beloved, beloved, where the slow waves of the wind
You smash pale foam among the great trees,
Under the stars that expedite, under the arcs of lifting,
As one turned down under shady seas,
I race to find her/it, I race and I cry,
Where is it? Where is it? It is me. It is me.
It is Your eyes that I look for, it is Your windy hair,
Your starry body that inhales there the obscurity.
Under the obscurity I feel her mixing. . . .
Is this you? Is this you?
Bats in this air go humming. . . .
And this soft mouth that darkly satisfies my mouth,
Is it this the soft mouth that I have known?
Obscurity, and he/she leaves without breath in the tortured trees;
And the taps dewy.
* * * * *
Dances! Dances! Dances! Dances!
Dances up to the brain is red with speed!
Dances up to You fall! Lift Your torches!
Kiss Your persons in love until them they bleed!
Turns back me I draw Your suffering hair
Until Your eyes they are tense with pain;
Turns back me I press her until you he/she cries,
Your lips grow white, I kiss again her,
I will take a torch and I will put her in flames,
I will break away Your body and throwing it. . . .
You look, you are trembling. . . .Still lies, beloved!
Closes Your hands in my key hair, and says
Dear! dear! dear! dear!
The whole night cultivates in the daytime the interruption.
It is it Your heart under that I feel of me. . . .
Or the to make to pay far of that tower?
Still The voices are those plant around us. . . .