LVII
“Espejo encantado?... Espejo encantado
gomo en el que Fausto mirò à Margarita,
donde se proyecta, donde resuscita
visiones efimeras—todo lo pasado.”
Francisco Villaespesa
At night, twin urns, your eyes are filled with sleep
From some far, silent sea I do not know,
Some far, far sea whither I may not go,
Where you do leave me for the tideless deep.
At dawn when you come back again you keep
Your soul so recessed, hidden from me so,
Our old love seems as steps in melting snow
Hastening unto the twin, dim urns of sleep.
As one within a twilight lone I feel
While gorgeous-winged some great strange bird sweeps past
And brushes me with wings—ah! brightly vast.
The promise that Life longs for most I feel
Has flashed its gold upon me. I can keep
Only the shadow in the urns of sleep.