I go dreaming
roads in the afternoon.
golden hills, green pines, oaks
dusty! ...
Where does the road go?
I go singing, traveling,
along the trail ...
-The evening is falling.
At the heart was the thorn of a passion I could tear it
day;
longer I feel the heart.
And all the field remains
moment, silent and dark, brooding
.
wind sounds in the river poplars.
afternoon the darker,
and Winding road and weakly
whitening,
blurs and disappears.
My song again lament: Acute spinal
golden again
who you feel stuck in the heart
.
Antonio Machado Carlos Cano
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