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To Silvia

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.