Lição de peixes

nada
como um dia
após o outro

Al-Chaer

Sandals

I've a pair of sandals,
I've a pair of misty green,
And another pair of sandals
Only you have seen.

In the shining silver sandals
I have sped to skies afar.
I have danced and gathered starbeams
On the highest swinging star.

In the misty gray-green sandals
On I have slipped through woodlands dim;
I have knelt a hidden altars--
There to breathe a low-toned hymn.

But the pair of scarlet sandals
Those I wore but one brief day;
And since you have left me--weeping
I have hidden them away.

Jean Rathburn Haines

Lampwork, silver and leather

Não sei quantas almas tenho
Não sei quantas almas tenho.
Cada momento mudei.
Continuamente me estranho.
Nunca me vi nem acabei.
De tanto ser, só tenho alma.
Quem tem alma não tem calma.
Quem vê é só o que vê,
Quem sente não é quem é,

Atento ao que sou e vejo,
Torno-me eles e não eu.
Cada meu sonho ou desejo
É do que nasce e não meu.
Sou minha própria paisagem;
Assisto à minha passagem,
Diverso, móbil e só,
Não sei sentir-me onde estou.

Por isso, alheio, vou lendo
Como páginas, meu ser.
O que segue não prevendo,
O que passou a esquecer.
Noto à margem do que li
O que julguei que senti.
Releio e digo : "Fui eu ?"
Deus sabe, porque o escreveu

Fernando Pessoa

Os versos que te fiz

Deixa dizer-te os lindos versos raros 
Que a minha boca tem pra te dizer! 
São talhados em mármore de Paros Cinzelados
por mim pra te oferecer.  
Têm dolência de veludos caros, 
São como sedas pálidas a arder...
Deixa dizer-te os lindos versos raros 
Que foram feitos pra te endoidecer!  
Mas, meu Amor, eu não tos digo ainda...
Que a boca da mulher é sempre linda 
Se dentro guarda um verso que não diz!  
Amo-te tanto! E nunca te beijei... 
E nesse beijo, Amor, que eu te não dei
Guardo os versos mais lindos que te fiz!

Florbela Espanca

Spring in New Hampshire

by Claude McKay

Too green the springing April grass,
Too blue the silver-speckled sky,
For me to linger here, alas,
While happy winds go laughing by,
Wasting the golden hours indoors,
Washing windows and scrubbing floors.

Too wonderful the April night,
Too faintly sweet the first May flowers,
The stars too gloriously bright,
For me to spend the evening hours,
When fields are fresh and streams are leaping,
Wearied, exhausted, dully sleeping.

Waiting for Summer

Ah, Sunflower

Ah, sunflower, weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the sun;
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the traveller's journey is done;

Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale virgin shrouded in snow,
Arise from their graves, and aspire
Where my Sunflower wishes to go!

- William Blake Home

A Word to Husbands

by Ogden Nash

To keep your marriage brimming
With love in the loving cup,
Whenever you’re wrong, admit it;
Whenever you’re right, shut up.

Verde que te quero verde

To friends

Elena

The only way to have a friend is to be one.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Solitude et compagnie

Dans mes jeunes années
j'étais esseulé
je me suis égaré
mais riche me suis senti
en croisant autrui.
La distraction de l'homme
est l'homme.

Broken Dreams

by William Butler Yeats

There is grey in your hair.
Young men no longer suddenly catch their breath
When you are passing;
But maybe some old gaffer mutters a blessing
Because it was your prayer
Recovered him upon the bed of death.
For your sole sake - that all heart's ache have known,
And given to others all heart's ache,
From meagre girlhood's putting on
Burdensome beauty -- for your sole sake
Heaven has put away the stroke of her doom,
So great her portion in that peace you make
By merely walking in a room.

Your beauty can but leave among us
Vague memories, nothing but memories.
A young man when the old men are done talking
Will say to an old man, 'Tell me of that lady
The poet stubborn with his passion sang us
When age might well have chilled his blood.'

Vague memories, nothing but memories,
But in the grave all, all, shall be renewed.
The certainty that I shall see that lady
Leaning or standing or walking
In the first loveliness of womanhood,
And with the fervour of my youthful eyes,
Has set me muttering like a fool.

You are more beautiful than any one,
And yet your body had a flaw:
Your small hands were not beautiful,
And I am afraid that you will run
And paddle to the wrist
In that mysterious, always brimming lake
Where those What have obeyed the holy law
paddle and are perfect. Leave unchanged
The hands that I have kissed,
For old sake's sake.

The last stroke of midnight dies.
All day in the one chair
From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have ranged
In rambling talk with an image of air:
Vague memories, nothing but memories.

Grow old along with me
the best is yet to be.

- Robert Browning -