Victoria / José Antonio Ramos Sucre

Victoria

Her white garb with silver lace suggested the stole of angels and the primitive gala of the iris. A simple crown, the branch of a millennial olive, covered her forehead. The diaphanous emerald eyes communicated the privilege of grace.
     The subtle traces of the countenance were attuned with those of a tacit form, which I guessed in the valley of wonder, by the light of a pluvial moon. One and another ghost, the one with the white garb and the one with the timid voice, looked alike in the neglect of the will, in devoted calm.
     I was concealing my childhood in a drowsy garden, church violets, Alhambra jasmines. I lived surrounded by visions and some serene virgins were reestablishing me from the stupor of an infinite evil.
     My fantasy was flying in a distance of history, arrests of El Cid and vows of Saint Bruno. I reached an epic view, on a supreme day, when my forehead declined over the damp earth of matutinal dew, trail of tears from purgatory. I saw the same ghost, the one with the timid voice and the one with the garb of white lily, armed with a crystal cross. His secret name was acclaimed by indefatigable archangels, in purple attire.




El cielo de esmalte (1929)




{ José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Obra completa, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }