¡Yo te excomulgo, Ananké!
Tu sombra de Melisendra
sinuosa de mi ananké...
eres hidra en Salomé,
en Brenda panteón de bruma,
tempestad blanca en Satsuma,
en Semíramis carcoma,
danza del vientre en Sodoma
y páramo en Ulaluma!
JULIO DE HERRERA Y REISSIG
Mi musa triste.
Mi musa triste, Delmira Agustini (1886-1914)
Vagos preludios. En la noche espléndida
su voz de perlas una fuente calla,
Cuelgan las brisas sus celestes pífanos
en el follaje. Las cabezas pardas
de los búhos acechan.
Las flores se abren más, como asombradas.
Los cisnes de marfil tienden los cuellos
en las lagunas pálidas.
Selene mira del azul. Las frondas
tiemblan... y todo, hasta el silencio, calla...
Es que ella pasa con su boca triste
Y el gran misterio de sus ojos de ámbar,
A través de la noche, hacia el olvido,
Como una estrella fugitiva y blanca.
Como una destronada reina exótica
de bellos gestos y palabras raras.
Horizontes violados sus ojeras
Dentro sus ojos (dos estrellas de ámbar)
Se abren cansados y húmedos y tristes
como llagas de luz que quejaran.
Es un dolor que vive y que no espera,
es una aurora gris que se levanta
del gran lecho de sombras de la noche,
cansada ya, sin esplendor, sin ansias
Y sus canciones son como hadas tristes
alhajadas de lágrimas.
*********************
Tu muñeca se llama Rebeca
y tiene cuatro pecas sobre su nariz…
Tu muñeca se llama Rebeca
y tiene cuatro pecas sobre su nariz…
Su cuerpito es pequeño y de trapo,
su boquita como un garabato,
sus ojitos forrados en raso…
y su cara está siempre feliz.
***************************
Tu muñeca se llama Rebeca
y tiene cuatro pecas sobre su nariz…
Tu muñeca se llama Rebeca
y tiene cuatro pecas sobre su nariz…
Yo te puedo ofrecer muchas cosas,
cien muñecas quizás más hermosas,
y que vuelan como mariposas…
quiero verte tan sólo reír.
^*********************
Tu muñeca se llama Rebeca
y tiene cuatro pecas sobre su nariz…
Tu muñeca se llama Rebeca
y tiene cuatro pecas sobre su nariz…
Te comprendo, niña temprana,
que no quieras cambiarla por nada,
tu Rebeca es más bella que nada,
ella piensa lo mismo que ti.
***************************
Tu muñeca se llama Rebeca
y tiene cuatro pecas sobre su nariz…
Tu muñeca se llama Rebeca
y tiene cuatro pecas sobre su nariz…
***********************
TERESA RABAL
Esta canción está basada en una muñeca real. Teresa le regaló a esa niña su propia muñeca Rebeca, que ella aún conserva como oro en paño.
FAIRY LORE
Fairies learn to dance before they learn to walk,
Fairies learn to sing before they learn to talk,
Fairies learn their counting from the cuckoo's call,
They do not learn geography at all.
Fairies go a-riding with witches on their brooms,
They steal away the rainbows to brighten up their rooms,
Fairies like a sky-dance better than a feast,
They have a birthday once a week at least.
Sleep, sleep, beauty bright,
Dreaming in the joys of night;
Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.
As thy softest limbs I feel
Smiles as of the morning steal
O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast
Where thy little heart doth rest.
O the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep!
When thy little heart doth wake,
Then the dreadful night shall break.
LULLABY, BY WILLIAM BLAKE
SUGARCANDY HOUSE,
or,
THE BELGIAN HANSEL AND GRETEL
Gleaned by Jean de Boschère
Jean and Jeannette were brother and sister. They lived near a big woodland, and every day they used to go to play there, fishing for sticklebacks in the streams, and making necklaces of red berries. One day they wandered farther from their home than usual, and all of a sudden they came to a brook crossed by a pretty red bridge. On the other side of the bridge, half hidden among the trees, they espied the roofs of a little pink cottage, which, when they came closer, they found to be built entirely of sugar-candy! Here was a delightful find for a little boy and girl who loved sweetstuff! They lost no time in breaking off pieces of the roof and popping them into their mouths.
Now in that candy house there lived an old werewolf whose name was Garou. He was paralysed in one leg, and could not run very fast, but in all other respects he was as fierce and[92] strong as he had been in his youth. When he heard Jean and Jeannette breaking off bits of his roof he growled out, “Who is touching my Sugar-Candy House?” Then he came limping out to see who it was, but by that time the children were safely hidden in the woods.
“Who dares to touch my Sugar-Candy House?” roared the wolf again.
Then Jean replied:
This satisfied the old wolf, and back he went to his house, grumbling.
The next day Jean and Jeannette once again crossed over the little red bridge, and broke some more candy from the werewolf’s house. Out came Garou again, bristling all over.
“Who is touching my Sugar-Candy House?” he roared.
And Jean and Jeannette replied:
“Very well,” said the werewolf, and he went back again, but this time there was a gleam of suspicion in his eye.
The next day was stormy, and hardly had Jean and Jeannette reached the Sugar-Candy House than the wolf came out, and surprised them in the very act of breaking a piece off his windowsill.
“Oho!” said he. “It was the wind so mild, was it? That lovable child, eh? Precious lovable children, I must say! Gr-r-r, I’ll eat them up!” And he sprang at Jean and Jeannette, who took to their heels and ran off as fast as their legs could carry them. Garou pursued them at a good speed in spite of his stiff paw, and although he never gained upon them, yet he kept them in sight, and refused[93] to give up the chase. The children looked back once or twice, and saw that the big bad wolf was still following them, but they were not very much afraid, because they were confident of their ability to outrun him.
All of a sudden they found their way barred by a wide river. There was no bridge or boat across it, and the water was very deep. What were they to do? Nearer and nearer came the wolf!
In the middle of the river some ducks were swimming, and Jan called out to them: “Little ducks! Little ducks! Carry us over the river on your backs, for if you do not the wolf will get us!”
So the ducks came swimming up, and Jean and Jeannette climbed each on to the back of one, and were carried safely over to the other bank.
Presently the wolf, in his turn, came to the river. He had seen how the children had managed to cross, and he roared out at the ducks in a terrible voice, “Come and carry me over, or I’ll eat you all up!”
“Very well,” answered the ducks, and they swam to the bank, and Garou balanced himself on four of them, one paw on the back of each. But they had no intention of carrying the wicked wolf to the other side, for they did not love him or any of his tribe, and, moreover, they objected to his impolite way of asking a favour. So, at a given signal from the leader, all the ducks dived in midstream, and left old Garou struggling in the water. Thrice he went down and three times he resurfaced, but the fourth time he sank never to rise any more.
That was the end of old Garou, and a good job, too, say I. I don’t know what became of his Sugar-Candy House, but I dare say, if you could find the wood, and the sun had not melted the candy, or the rain washed it away, you might break a bit of it off for yourselves.
Psychomachia
Sobriety brings Sensuality to an appalling end too when she smashes her face in with a stone:
Chance drives the stone to smash the breath-passage in the midst of the face and beat the lips into the arched mouth. The teeth within are loosened, the gullet cut, and the mangled tongue fills it with bloody fragments. Her gorge rises at the strange meal; gulping down the pulped bones she spews up again the lumps she swallowed. 'Drink up now thine own blood, after thy many cups,' says the maiden, upbraiding her. 'Be these thy grim dainties.'
