Arquivo do mês: agosto 2017

Quando eu acho que ele já me salvou de todas as maneiras…



I would that I were again a child

And a child you sweet and pure,

That we might be free and wild

In our consciousness obscure;

That we might play fantastic games

Under trees silent and shady,

That we might have fairy-book names,

I be a lord, you a lady.


And all were a strong ignorance

And a healthy want of thought,

And many a [prank?], many a dance

Our unresting feet had wrought;

And I would act well a clown’s part

To your childish laughter winning,

And I would call you my sweetheart

And the name would have no meaning.


Or sitting close we each other would move

With tales that now gone are sad;

We would have no sex, would feel no love,

Good without fighting the bad.

And a flower would be our life’s delight

And a nutshell boat our treasure:

We would lock it in a cupboard at night

As in memory a pleasure.


We would spend hours and days like a wealth

Of goodness too great to cloy,

We would deep enjoy innocence and health

Knowing not we did enjoy…

Ah, what bitterest is is that-alone

Now one feeling in me I trace –

That knowledge of what from us hath gone

And of what it left in its place.

Alexander Search/ Fernando Pessoa

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