quarta-feira, 27 de julho de 2011

"Only to read childrens’ books": um poema

Only to read childrens’ books,
only to love childish things,
throwing away adult things,
rising from saddest looks.
I am wearied to death with life.
There’s nothing it has that I want,
but I celebrate my naked earth,
there’s no other world to descant.
A plain swing of wood;
the dark, of the high fir-tree,
in the far-off garden, swinging;
remembered by feverish blood.

Osip Mandelstam, 1908

Via Bruaá

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