Antonio Machado
Beloved, the breeze whispers
Beloved, the breeze whispers of your pure white dress... My eyes won't see you; my heart awaits you!
The wind has brought me your name in the morning; the echo of your steps is repeated by the mountain... my eyes won't see you; my heart awaits you!
In the shadowy towers the bells toll... My eyes won't see you; my heart awaits you!
The hammer blows speak of the black box; and the grave's site, the blows of the spade... My eyes won't see you; my heart awaits you!
A mystery burns in your eyes
A mystery burns in your eyes, elusive and companionable maiden.
I don't know if it's hate or love, the inexhaustible flame of your black quiver.
You'll go with me while my body casts a shadow and there's sand under my sandals.
-Are you the thirst or the water on my path? Tell me, elusive and companionable maiden.
Advice
I This love that wants to be perhaps soon will be; but when will it return what has just passed? Today is far from yesterday. Yesterday is Nevermore! II A coin in hand perhaps should be saved: the little coin of the soul is lost if not given.
Gallant Inventory
Your eyes remind me of summer nights, black nights without a moon, by the salty sea, and the twinkling stars of the low, black sky. Your eyes remind me of summer nights. And your tanned skin, the scorched wheat, and the sigh of fire from the ripe fields. Your sister is clear and weak like languid reeds, like sad willows, like glaucous flax. Your sister is a star in the distant blue... And is dawn and cold breeze over the poor poplars that tremble on the humble and gentle riverbanks. Your sister is a star in the distant blue. From your tanned grace, from your gypsy dreaming, from your shadowy gaze I want to fill my glass. I will intoxicate myself one night under the low, black sky, to sing with you, by the salty sea, a song that leaves ashes on the lips... From your shadowy gaze I want to fill my glass. For your lovely sister I will pluck the branches of new flowers from the white almond trees, in a quiet and sad March dawn. I will water them with clear stream water, tie them with green reeds from the still waters... For your lovely sister I will make a little white bouquet.
Dreams
The most beautiful fairy has smiled upon seeing the glow of a pale star, which in a soft, white, and silent thread coils around the spindle of her blonde sister. And she smiles again because on her spinning wheel the thread of the fields tangles. Behind the thin curtain of the bedroom the garden is wrapped in golden light. The cradle, almost in shadow. The child sleeps. Two diligent fairies accompany him, spinning the subtle flakes of dreams on ivory and silver spinning wheels.
Parergon
The eyes I When his beloved died he thought of growing old in the closed mansion, alone, with his memory and the mirror where she looked at herself one bright day. Like gold in the miser's chest, he thought he wouldn't keep a whole yesterday in the clear mirror. Time would no longer run for him. II But, after the first anniversary, How were they? he asked, brown or black, her eyes? Glaucous?... Gray? How were they, Good Lord, I don't remember?... III He went out to the street one spring day, and walked in silence his double mourning, his heart closed... From a window in the shadowy recess he saw eyes shine. He lowered his own and continued on his way... Just like those!