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My senses, my face, my heart have heard: my soul has not yet understood. As the divine a ernoon wanes, I will head home hesitantly, leaning on the tree trunks along the road. Dios es este reposo de tu larga mirada en mi mirada, este comprenderse, sin el ruido intruso de las palabras. Dios es esta entrega ardiente y pura. Y vuelve otra vez al suspiro. Y es esta certidumbre divina de que la muerte es mentira.

God Talk to me now about God, and I will understand you. God is this tranquillity of your long gaze in my gaze, this understanding one another without the intrusive noise of words. God is this surrender, passionate and pure. Like us, He is loving in the morning, at midday, and at night, and it seems to Him, as it seems to us, that He is only just beginning to love.

He needs no other song than His love itself, and He sings it from sighing through to sobbing. And He returns again to the sigh. And this divine certainty that death is a lie. Yes, now I understand God. El mundo —No se aman, dijeron, porque no se buscan. Ellos, que se revuelcan en la voluptuosidad sin lograr unirse, no saben que por una mirada somos esposos!

Your job is far from mine, and my home is not near you. Nevertheless, as I do my work, I feel as if I were wrapping you in a weave of so est wool, and you feel, way over there, that my gaze is falling on your bowed head. And your heart cracks open with sweetness!

The day gone, we will meet for a few moments, but the sweet wound of love will sustain us till another twilight. Hablaban de ti. Y eras puro, como la escarcha que amanece dormida en los cristales. They Were Talking about You. They were talking about you, bloodying you, with lots of words. Why does human language exhaust itself so uselessly? And you were pure as the frost at dawn sleeping on the windowpanes. They were talking about you to me, praising you with lots of words. Why is human generosity exhausted so uselessly?

Get PDF Otoño italiano (Jazmín) (Spanish Edition)

I kept silent, and praise rose up from deep inside me, bright as mists rising from the sea. They stopped mentioning your name the other day and talked about others, with a warm respectfulness. The strange names dropped inert before me, fading. And your name, which no one mentioned, was as present as the spring that covered the valley, though no one would be singing it at that luminous hour. Va bajando el sol.

Parece que te hundieras en la tierra pesada.

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  8. Vienes cantando como las vertientes bajan al valle. Ya te escucho. The sun is setting. Over the plain the night settles in, and you come walking to meet me, naturally, as the night falls. Hurry, I want to see the twilight across your face! How slowly you approach!

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    You come near singing like the slopes that descend into the valley. I hear you already. The fading day wants to pass away across our two faces together. Contigo soy natural y bella, cual el musgo en el tronco. Hide me as the tree trunk conceals its resin, that I may perfume you in the shadow like a drop of amber-gum, that it may smooth you and the others may never know where your sweetness comes from.