Fantasy of the Primitive One
The cherubs of illustrious countenance were vibrating their versatile swords of flame.
The stars of enthusiastic fire were animating the portent of the diaphanous night, they were erecting the cortège of virtues and imitating its canticle of hope.
I was discovering in front of my steps the amaranth of the troubadours’ duel, the simple rose of carmine and the ritual reed, the wreath of the Florentine poet in the purgatory of dawn.
I saw myself surrounded by my dreams and memories of Earth. Following the thread of a faded river, a solemn griffin was guiding a vessel, coffin of the virgin of the nimbus, sacrificed in an eclipse. From her sepulcher she had flown again over humanity, in wings of terror, the protest of her faith.
I received the grace of uncovering the secret of prodigies hidden to the profane mind of man. Turned into a celestial form, the virgin of the nimbus was encouraging the paladins of the empyreal to the rescue of the conflicts of the faithful and she herself had calmed Roldan’s aspect and ennobled his final hour.
El cielo de esmalte (1929)
{ José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Obra completa, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }
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