I GO DREAMING DOWN ROADS I go dreaming down roadways of evening. Emerald pine-trees golden hillsides dusty oak-leaves!… Where does this road go? I go travelling, singing, into the road’s far distance… – evening falls slow – ‘I bore in my heart the thorn of passion: Drew it out one day And my heart is numb.’ And suddenly all the land was silent, mute and sombre, meditating. Sound of the wind in the riverside poplars. Evening’s more shadowy and the turning road that faintly whitens blurs, in vanishing. Lament, my song turns to: ‘Gold thorn, so sharp Could I but feel you lodged in my heart.’
ANTONIO MACHADO