Friday, April 3, 2009

Amor, amor

Love, love, a habit dressed
which was cut your cloth;
the width dress was tight
and when he was close upon me.

After consenting to what here,
I regret this has taken,
evidence that time of grief,
this break that I got.

But who can get rid of this habit,
taking as its contrary nature,
that it has to comply?

Any remaining ventura
My reason, I dare not show;
that such a contradiction was not sure.

Juan Ramón Jiménez

Love, what smells? It seems when love
that the whole world is rumored spring.
The dried leaves and branches to make snow
and he still young and ardent, smelling a rose eternal.

Everywhere wreaths opens invisible
all its funds are lyrical laugh-or-punishment,
the woman's kiss becomes a magical effect
that, as in the paths, endlessly renewing ...

Come to the ideal of soul music concerts,
words of a light breeze from trees;
are sighs and weeping, and sighing and crying
left as a romantic fresh honeysuckle ...

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