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本帖最后由 棉花糖 于 2010-6-18 11:54 编辑
somewhere I have never traveled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which I cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though I have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
touching skillfully, mysteriously her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, I and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the powder of your intense frailty: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
瓦尔都,Vartou,童话诞生的地方。 |
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