Romanza / José Antonio Ramos Sucre


When my grieving youth now declines, and the nostalgia of its first days is born, the same love that invited its matutinal impetus returns.
     You come back to me in one of life’s landings, in a bend of the dense jungle, when your faltering beauty is now a dull moon mirror.
     You retain the graceful bearing and the triumphal diadem of hair, a relic of happy gifts and golden galas; why does the complexion of beautiful girls not have the smoothness of the lake, that escapes swift time?
     Those days of soft hours and blue dreams are fugitive birds whose chirping afflicts the wandering mariner. A twist of fate has moved to sadness the frolic of the warm morning: now the night guides toward us the silent wheels of its ivory coach, and the occidental sun, along the sea, figures the lion’s head peering over the horizon of the desert; a swan in mourning augurs our route and, found again by chance, we are the only travelers aboard the vessel that carries our defunct ideal.

La torre de Timón (1925)

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

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