Jose Asuncion Silva
These recollections with the scent of ferns
Are the idyll of early years
(Gregorio Gutierrez González)
Accompanying the hazy memories
Time so generously glorifies,
Returning to a welcoming heart
And flocking like white butterflies,
Come fantasies of happy childhood days.
No, that was not passion,
It was the vague tenderness
Inspired by a sickly child,
Lang syne, and moon pale nights.
The spirit sings only
When the heart is moved,
When, shaken by love’s power, it trembles,
Broods, draws back, says not a word.
The little girl, though very ill,
Went out one morning
To wander, with faltering footsteps,
The nearby hill.
She brought back mountain flowers
In which she hid
A chrysalis and, unknowing, set it
Close beside her bed.
Until sunset!
From the dawn!
See the woodsmen of San Juan,
They want bread before it’s gone!
Those from Roque,
Feeling rocky,
Those from Rique,
Feeling tricky,
The lamp that stands beside the crib
Is not yet lighted to warm the gloom
Of the blueish, opaque light falling
Through the curtains of late afternoon.
From outside come unfamiliar sounds
And weary children interrupt their play
While in every corner of the house
Fairies awaken at the end of day.
In a fragile vase
In your chamber are
Preserved butterflies
That when touched by
A brilliant sun ray
Turn to mother-of-pearl,
Pieces of iridescent
Evening sky
Si en tus recuerdos ves algún día
entre la niebla de lo pasado
surgir la triste memoria mía
medio borrada ya por los años,
piensa que fuiste siempre mi anhelo
y si el recuerdo de amor tan santo
mueve tu pecho; nubla tu cielo,
llena de lágrimas tus ojos garzos;
One night
one night all full of murmurings, of perfumes and music of wings;
one night
in which fantastic fireflies burnt in the humid nuptial shadows,
slowly by my side, pressed altogether close, silent and pale,
as if a presentiment of infinite bitternesses
agitated you unto the most hidden fibers of your being,
along the flowering path which crosses the plain
