The dead bride - Wikisource

Where forest ornaments we saw
Different flowering to the mountain joy,
And in the thorny cluster clusters
And there is light inside every black grape!

On the prime of the extended grass
Falling reds from a flower of the hill,
What is that bloody spark of a flame
From the fire that invades the horizon The leaf of the lazy fig tree
It resembles a very open hand,
And the bright butterfly passes
What the fatuous fire of some dead fairy;

Conjunctions of satin petals
The morbid buds bloom,
And there are jewels of thistles in the Sundown
And the calyxes waste,

And they look like the bodies of the flowers. > They enamel with their dyes the place,
The pieces of an alba of colors
Fragmentada, falling among the foliage!

Form a picture of a mansion of mourning,
There a heart throbbing in the heart:
Hell is in Heaven too!

She suffers Lucy, and in her white hand
Like a snowflake of orange blossom,
She has a letter that peace pulls her,
She has a writing in which Kar says:

Everything is in ruins, and in the midst of them
The indignity his garment drags:
The snakes inhabit the rubble
And in the rubble their power proclaim!

Everything is in mines; and the divine torso,
The young torso of the sad country,
The whip that shake the sayones,
He broke the nascent galas!

Mas nothing matters: there's no fight, no fear.
Strong men who have no stain,
Do not stain, when they attack sludge,
Do not stain, when they remove ponds!

Always the glittering glass shines,
And, being sunk in corrupted waters,
It seems to break and fade,
But it retains its purity intact!

Virtue, when it suffers, is more beautiful.
Virtue, when it struggles, is sacrosanct.
There is no arm that crushes it eternally,
And there are forces that from the dust get up!

It strikes the tree that reaches the heavens,
The abrupt pruning of a few ax blows,
But the tree shoots with more vigor
And greener his pavilion hammock!
The triumph always indicates a suffering.
The triumph of the tint that spills
With the perfume that the flower wastes,
Where is it born? Of the button that explodes.

And the victories of the light of a candle
And the empires of an immense flame
Where are they born? Of different things
They become light, when a glare damages them!

Goodbye, Lucia! ya warrior clarinet
It announces the clear dawn of an alb:
And from the shadow the day comes off ...
I leave you and I suffer to save the country!

. .................................

That decision Strange
Does it seek a hidden end

Why, when calling the bugle,
She goes to the campaign?
What delirium accompanies her?
What strong impulse hurts her? The beautiful Lucy wants
Find her young soldier
To live by her side,
Because she's far from dying!
Finding her boyfriend waits
And receive her hugs,
When he arms his arms
With a beautiful flag

And then regia, sorceress,
Said: why this prison?
And shouted the meeting:
Who brought you? Are you a spy?
And she answered them all: Who brought me? My affliction!

United to the group mimes
The most beautiful: it is like a nest
A rough trunk held
With silk filaments; > With the group entangled it
A silky bicolor,
And in it nests love
Like an inlaid pearl,
What light in the dawn,
Like life in pain .

I learned a lot from the people to whom I approached to ask them of favor to leave me photographing his hands. The project came from birth with the complication of being treated of a specific and unique subject ...

That said, silence enters
On the phalange to reign:
The river begins to roar.
When an obstacle finds,
More your anger recovers,
Si the obstacle has broken,
And so the group, already calm,
Follow the march, and its waves
Arms and flags
Carry the new soldier.

Lucia in the situation
From a gladiator queen,
It's like an angel of glory
Driving the pavilion
And although it has the intuition
What is a Calvary to find,
Not what stop lighting

With your pupils of light
Christ lit the cross,
When it began to expire!

The course that leads you to those struggles that you produce
Fratricidal hatred

If you are in the extended field. a river is,
In three pieces it breaks,
It is a horrible snake
That in pursuit of a prey goes!

Suddenly he hears the roar
Of troops that near are,
And, what t volcano noises,
Hear drum thunders

She's all trembling
And to fight she's ready,
And when she sees people on a slope,
She asks: who are they? ?
And a bellow answers:
Viva la Revolución!

It sounds like a double shot
That in the air makes a cross,
And streaks of light
There's a terrible cimbreo
And the bright twinkle
Of the blast explosion
It's kind of like a blandón
In a death scene,
And until the wounds
And as the stars of glory!

And already the flag tremola, And Lucia and he embrace, Forming, when they bond,
Like a flag alone! << And as he watches how he immolates
Both Oriental by anger,
Crisscross, he folds, he stretches
He lights up with his tears, And he's a cyclops that watches
With your golden pupil!

Lucia wants to leave
From the side that is her prison,
Well with the revolution
It is the one who makes her suffer
And, fearing to succumb
Far from her adored, Run to the longed group
And then it falls off the back
And the green grass agitated
Give emerald sparks!

Wounded by a thousand sparks
The flag fell to the ground

Like a patch of sky
Riddled with stars! And the traces are so red
Of all the bullet inlaid
In the heroine, in the fairy
Of the beautiful passions,
That fell, as overturned
A rain of roses!

..................... Like a giant lizard
Under a great sun lying down
It is the emerald field
By the gramillal triumphant;
The field, which in a instant,
Whose vision still terrifies him,
He felt the war charger
Pass, like a locomotive,
Giving dead to the earth,
But scattering the dawn!

/ p>

Like the tail of a comet,
Whose body is not seen,
Mancha to the field a great list
Water between his restless bed
And that luminous vein
He runs looking for the sea,
Feel in his waves float
Two dead of that action, > That meanwhile it's bright
Like a sunspot!

Some doves look
The sad field come:
Maybe they want to drive
Some soul to Eden!
Maybe your wings are
Loaded with flower leaves,
With tears of pain
Some plant sends you
To the grave that to Lucia
It forms the clover of smell.

In that first encounter
The revolution triumphed,
And noises of dispersion
Brotaron del entrevero < / i>
There remains in the field a trickle
Of dead whose horror inspires;
The night comes and admires
Of those tragic traces,
And the stars are full of hands
It seems that God throws them away!

As souls who have occupied
Your heavenly paradise,
The stars of the veil shine
With which the world has mourned;
And Kar, the young soldier, > From your deserted group
And looking with uncertain route
In the field of action
Something you love: a pavilion,
And find your girlfriend dead!

And That inanimate body
On the green extended,
Cobra something like a heartbeat:
A kiss has awakened it!
How much button withered
In the middle of its aurora

The first ray of sun,
And, mist made bubble,
Cry of perfume weeps!

> And among his loving arms,
As asking for hugs,
The beautiful bride expired.
And the day surprised him
With his morning glare
Looking at the bridal bed
What they found in the prairie
The most witch-bride
And a national pavilion!