Longing When it shatters the dawn into Jingling white threads, And its magic circus runs From the high zenith, its jealous Verses, I bequeath roll up the greenish Petals of the flowers, dressing them In florid scrawls; And I volition find nothing, but on its Silken lips the tenderness of my life. When the poorly(p) ricochet breaks the chains Of its pallid grotto and the skeletal Trees waggle in the laughter of their Euphoria, recovering their multi-colored Flowering, the fields will be change Then in their starched white ornaments. And I . . . and I . . .
And I will repair the adulterated Poems of the broken fans of time, In the splendid slimness of its sighs, That sleep beneath my poor and imperfect verses. Bibliography: ...If you require to get a full essay, order it on our website:
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