The Goodbye of a Poet!

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A poet left; in his closed tomb
It is not a song, not a word in this beloved tongue
Whose divine sweetness here intoxicated him.
Alone, a poor and sad tree with a pale green,
The willow tree that dreamed, in the wind of the afternoon, murmured
in its tearful shadow a tender and long repentance.

This is not forgetting; we repeat again,
Poet of love, those songs that were made
in your soul, lost in eternal torment,
And the ruthless Time that breaks from his wing
Many laurels, The time of a new grace,
Corona, coming out of your lovely memory

You were the spoiled child of the century. Your whims
We find it indulgent. We were accomplices
of their young differences; You could dare everything.
From the muse for you, we knew the tenderness,
and our enchanted looks told his caresses.
From his first smile to his last kiss.

Among us, many poet with an inspired mouth
they had reopened a sacred fountain;
Yes, others gave us their songs.
But the scream that seizes the heart and moves it,
but those deep accents that with an excited lip
they go to everyone's soul, only you have found them.

In the concert of our tears, your voice had mixed.
Among us, suffering children of difficult times, the
Doubt and pain formed a bond.
Your lyre touching us was sweet and dear to us;
In the divine cantor, we all feel brothers;
It was the blood of our hearts that ran in yours.

Nothing stopped your complaint, and your soul hurt the
it let out heartbreaking and rhythmic.
While towards the sky that is veiled and closed
A confused noise arose from the crowd,
Proud and beautiful, you threw yourself, young lover of the muse, to
Through all these noises your immortal sob.

When the nightingale, in the fiery season
of love and flowers, on the trembling branch rises
to sing your beloved and secret evil.
Nothing stops the growth of his infinite complaint,
and his fragile throat a long stream of harmony
It rises and spreads in the forest.

The melodious voice delights the space...
But suddenly everything is silent; the traveler who passes
under the leaf of the forest feels an exciting career.
From the bird that led to the reckless intoxication,
the soul flew away with the burning note;
Oh! To sing like that was to want to die!