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(spring of 1829) |
You remember, my Silvia
Of your mortal life those times When the love shone In your restless eyes and rientes, And, cheerful and pensive, the thresholds Did you cross of the flourishing years? It sounded in the calm ones Stays and in the streets The echo of your song, When to the attentive feminine work You sat down, it pleases Of the sweet future that you foresaw. It was the fragrant May, And you looked to run this way the days. Me, the pleasing studies Sometimes leaving and the old folios Where my green years And the best in me wasted away, From the terrado of the patemo it harbors My hearing to the they are of your songs he/she gave And to the rumor of your hands, That the painful cloth traveled. He/she looked at the clear sky, The golden paths and the orchards, And on one hand the sea, for other the mount. Mortal language doesn't say that that inside of it felt. What soft thoughts, what you thrill, what glory, oh my Silvia! How candy it seemed the existence to your side! When I remember that great contentment, It levies me a feeling Scathing and lonely, And it torments me my sadness again. Oh cruel Nature! Why to your children anything of what you offer you complete, and of deceits is the life sowed? Before the winter the field freezes, You, combatted by fatal ailment, You died, tender friend. And of your years To see the flower was not able to. It didn't caress your soul Of the black hair the alabaza Or of looking modest, in love, Neither in the parties the waitresses to your side Of loves they conversed. Also, at the little time, My hope died; to my existence He/she also denied the fate The youth. Oh, how, How you escaped for always, Dear friend of the sweet hours, Oh my cried charm! Is this the world that? The love this, These the works, grazing burning On that together so much departimos? This human people's destination? When arising to the life, You, miserable, you fell, and with the hand You showed me, when leaving, the cold death And a distant sepulcher.
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