Norberto Algarin

Mírala, Esros, en la verde espesura...

Mírala, Eros, en la verde espesura,
bajo un fresco y sereno cielo de olivo,
cómo pasa cantando son terso y vivo
esplendiendo a las aves con su hermosura.

Tal así en mis espasmos se me figura...
Acéchala, tú Eros, como un furtivo
cazador en mi sueño tan sensitivo
y dirige tu flecha hacia su escultura.

Que sus labios de Armida dirán entonces,
en la tibia región de horas nemorosas,
la dulce frase eglógica del embeleso.

Y se fundirán como bermejos bronces,
o como el carmín con esas blancas rosas,
nuestras bellas almas en un dulce beso.

 

All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Norberto Algarin.
Published on e-Stories.org on 17.04.2017.

 

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