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Soy algo tolerante con las cosas...

Я вежлив с жизнью современною...

Soy algo tolerante con las cosas,
los modos y maneras de estos días.
Mas debo confesar que justo aquello
que cubren de sarcasmos e ironías

un trueno es en mi alma como el bronce.
Victoria, gloria, hazaña son palabras,
son voces del Señor en el desierto,
que – dicen – suenan pálidas, gastadas.

Mas cuando intrusa se asentó en mi casa
la muelle suavidad de lo moderno,
yo quise al fin volar como la flecha
del arco de Nimrod o el bronce heleno.

Soy hombre circunspecto y algo seco,
y no soy, por lo tanto, un héroe trágico,
mas este baratillo de muñecos
me enfada como al idolo metálico

que vio muchas cabezas inclinadas,
grandiosas oraciones, sacerdotes
temblando de emoción, fieras tormentas
en el bosque nocturno desatadas.

Ahora ve con sorna el siempre inmóvil
y sólito jardín con un columpio,
una dama de pecho exuberante,
un músico-pastor y un caramillo.

Другие переводы:


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