ON THE ROAD
I went along, alone, to the mystery beneath a sun of madness,
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And you spilled your shadow upon me, pilgrim;
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Your glance was kind, like a dark path,
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Like a damp path covering the way.
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Prodigal and fertile to me was your bag of tenderness:
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I had the simplicity of bread, and the flame of wine;
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But your soul in a fold of its astral raiment,
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A burr of gold and shadow, bore off my destiny.
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My hands, which your hands covered, never
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Shall grow cold, and holding fast in the sweet close mesh
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Of your caress, will never be able to caress!…
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In my body, a tower of memory and hope
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With the feel of marble and the dream of wax,
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Your shadow casts roses of fire in the hearth
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And in my soul, a castle desolate and sounding
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With patinas of tedium and moistness of tears,
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Your shadow casts roses of snow in the hearth!
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Análisis métrico
17
Versos
12.3
Media silábica
209
Sílabas totales