poem of my heart


Being sleepless at midnight,
I rise to play the lute.
The moon is visible through the curtains
And a gentle breeze sways the cord of my robe.
A lonely wild-goose cries in the wilderness
And is echoed by a bird in the woods.
As it circles, it gazes
At me, alone, imbued with sadness.

Juan Chi


Cry out, then, cry—
crickets in your tangle
of mugwort timber!
The passing of autumn
is indeed so sad a time.

Sone no Yoshitada


Silence of the night, painful silence,
Nocturne . . . Why does my soul tremble like this?
I hear the low hum of my blood.
I watch a calm storm pass inside my skull.
Insomnia! Not to sleep, and perchance
to dream. To be the whole soliloquy
of spiritual dissection, my Hamlet-I!
To dissolve my sadness
in one night’s wine,
in the marvelous crystal darkness . . .
And then I wonder: When will it be dawn?
A door just closed . . .
Someone is passing on the street . . .
The clock strikes three … It must be Her!

Rubén Darío


Colonize sadness with your voice
Child of the sea having no other care
He sleeps in the shade of my flute and his fingers

Watch closely my heart is a beacon
And my prayers climb an inner stair like a tree

I tell you you’re beautiful
Like a room in some hotel

Here beneath the eglantine
And the crown of thorns
You look for the rope ladder and the polite violin
Tell me forever you adore my second chin

If I were a stream or a tourist
You’d all love me the way you love artists
But I hate winter and the eye’s lids
And your little star wondrous as it turns

I like patience and the swallow
The bed with sails for the dreamless voyage
As waves consume the precise night
And the head rises and the balloon bursts
Under the paper moon which slides away
Looking for the words hung from the sky

Vicente García Huidobro Fernández


Guitars cry
in the wilderness of night.
They are like ailing

The whole town
sleeps in agony…
The moon is a skull
watching over us.

All the sky is laced
with silvery light…
A voice cries out
for Jesus.

The dead stillness
of the moonlight spreads low…
And in the moonlight
at each door a soul expires.

The old people pass by trembling…
Go in peace,
you evangelists
of the Here-Lies!

All the sad city
is a cemetery….
There is a murmur of nostalgia
and mystery.

The cloud holds back
the tears it has in itself….
Beyond, weeps the song
of the river.

From south to north,
like a secret,
passes a draught of misfortune:
it is the voice of fear…

In the peace of the night
there is the celestial
silence of
a funeral urn.

Through the infinite grief
that is in everything
I hear the rolling of the water,
serene and sad.

Guitars cry
in the wilderness of night.
They are like ailing

And through the middle of the town
runs the river,
carrying the memory
of someone who is dying…

Alphonsus de Guimaraens

in love and praise of a lady

Beloved face,
take pity on me.
For I live in sadness,
desiring you.

That beauty of yours
has captivated me,
and on account of this (mis)fortune
to my heart,
sadness divides us
at all seasons;
which is why your image
so saddens me.

All my care
is for your praise,
for I cannot forget
the times that are past.
It would be fair of you
to remember me,
for I always served
you willingly and loyally.

Every day
I am sad and joyless.
If only one day
I could see you,
I should take comfort
from the sight of you.
Thus  I should recover
the good that I have lost.

As I was arguing in this manner,
the birds were flying (past);
(and) beside some grass
I found myself sadly grieving.
Then, at that moment,
I remembered a gentle lady
whom my sighing heart adores
night and day.

Alfonso Álvarez de Villasandino


There are three wants which can never be satisfied :
that of the rich, who wants something more;
that of the sick, who wants something different;
and that of the traveler, who says,
,,Anywhere but here.’’

Waldo Emerson