Perhaps whatever final shadow that
the shining day may bring could close my eyes,
and this my soul may well be set aflight
by time responding to its longing sighs;
but it will not, there on the farther shore
its memory leave behind, where once it burned:
my flame the icy current yet can swim,
and so severe a law can surely spurn.
Soul by no less than a god confined,
veins that such a blazing fire have fueled,
marrow to its glorious flames consigned:
the body will abandon, not its woes;
will soon be ash, but ash that is aware;
dust will be, but dust whose love still grows.
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"La ola de perfume verde" Roberto Arlt, "No oyes ladrar a los perros" Juan Rulfo, "La pagoda de Babel" G.K. Chesterton, "El que inventó la pólvora" Carlos Fuentes, "El chico y los frailes" Cuento Popular, "El amor que asalta" Unamuno, "En soledad" López Velarde, "El hombre muerto" Leopoldo Lugones, "Los que ignoran que están muertos" Nervo, "La emparedada" Pardo Bazán, "Selección de Poemas" Amado Nervo. "La serpiente que se muerde la cola" Nervo, "Le Spleen de Paris" Baudelaire, "La dama del espejo" Virginia Woolf, "En este país" Larra, "Fábulas de Esopo", "Fábulas de Samaniego"
