Ulpiano
Obrero de la Poesía
.
.
It was the fatal hour: I had to leave...
The morning in a gray was drawn.
As in the pain of my soul
the persistent rain was sobbing.
- Will you come back?
- I will be back!
You gave me from your hair
a little curl which you kissed,
the kiss that my lips wished!
Your face seemed
because of my farewell,
inscrutable, but I saw right away
that in all its brilliance in it was drawn
a great regret: the anguish...
with you it stayed.
.
.
Farewell pain
It was the fatal hour: I had to leave...
The morning in a gray was drawn.
As in the pain of my soul
the persistent rain was sobbing.
- Will you come back?
- I will be back!
You gave me from your hair
a little curl which you kissed,
the kiss that my lips wished!
Your face seemed
because of my farewell,
inscrutable, but I saw right away
that in all its brilliance in it was drawn
a great regret: the anguish...
with you it stayed.
.