"The Kissing of Sal Snooboo" by Robert E. Howard (in English)

A bunch of the girls were whooping it up

In the old Lip-stick saloon,

And the kid at the player-piano

Was twanging a jazzy tune,

When out of the night with perfume on his shirt

And stacomb upon his hair,

A young man staggered inside the door

And meowed like a grizzly-bear.

He kicked the kid off the piano stool

And sat him down to play.

The piano yowled like an old tom cat

To the tune of "Hip! Hurray!"

Says he, "Gals, you don’t know me,

But, by gosh, I know you,

And one of you is a classy dame,

And that one is Sal Snooboo!"

She squawked and somebody turned the lights,

Something went “Smack!” in the dark.

There was nothing for anybody to do

But to stand still and s****** and hark.

Somebody turned the lights on,

And Sally was standing there,

But the stranger wasn’t; he was done,

And Sal was arranging her hair.

"A Vision" by Oscar Wilde (in English)

Two crowned Kings, and One that stood alone

With no green weight of laurels round his head,

But with sad eyes as one uncomforted,

And wearied with man's never-ceasing moan

For sins no bleating victim can atone,

And sweet long lips with tears and kisses fed.

Girt was he in a garment black and red,

And at his feet I marked a broken stone

Which sent up lilies, dove-like, to his knees.

Now at their sight, my heart being lit with flame,

I cried to Beatrice, 'Who are these? '

And she made answer, knowing well each name,

'AEschylos first, the second Sophokles,

And last (wide stream of tears!) Euripides.'

Death Laughed Last! by Sheldon Mayer (in English)

art Alex Nino - Forbidden Tales of Dark Mansion #12 - DC Comics, May 1973.

 

"Como Sombras de Nuvens que Passam" (Canto VIII) by José Thiesen (in Portuguese)

Canto VIII
     Ouvi meu nome do fundo de lá; abaixei mais a cabeça e continuei andando.
     Chovia copiosamente, eu tremia e chorava.
     Faltavam dois dias para o embarque pra Rimini. Luciano telefonara-me pouco antes, também em prantos.
     Eduardo tinha razão: eu fugia. Não conseguia ver um futuro feliz entre mim e Luciano e, por causa dessa tristeza adivinhada, fugia.
     Mas para onde me levava o lugarejo próximo a Rimini?



    

"Jonquil And Fleur-de-lys" by Lord Alfred Douglas (in English)

I

Jonquil was a shepherd lad,

White he was as the curded cream,

Hair like the buttercups he had,

And wet green eyes like a full chalk stream.

II

His teeth were as white as the stones that lie

Down in the depths of the sun-bright river,

And his lashes danced like a dragon-fly

With drops on the gauzy wings that quiver.

III

His lips were as red as round ripe cherries,

And his delicate cheek's and his rose-pink neck

Were stained with the colour of dog-rose berries

When they lie on the snow like a crimson fleck.

IV

His feet were all stained with the cowslips and grass

To amber and verdigris,

And through his folds one day did pass

The young prince Fleur-de-lys.

V

Fleur-de-lys was the son of the king.

He was as white as an onyx stone,

His hair was curled like a daffodil ring,

And his eyes were like gems in the queen's blue zone.

VI

His teeth were as white as the white pearls set

Round the thick white throat of the queen in the hall,

And his lashes were like the dark silk net

That she binds her yellow hair withal.

VII

His lips were as red as the red rubies

The king's bright dagger-hilt that deck,

And pale rose-pink as the amethyst is

Were his delicate cheeks and his rose-pink neck.

VIII

His feet were all shod in shoes of gold,

And his coat was as gold as a blackbird's bill is,

With jewel on jewel manifold,

And wrought with a pattern of golden lilies.

IX

When Fleur-de-lys espied Jonquil

He was as glad as a bird in May ;

He tripped right swiftly a-down the hill,

And called to the shepherd boy to play.

X

This fell out ere the sheep-shearing,

That these two lads did sport and toy,

Fleur-de-lys the son of the king,

And sweet Jonquil the shepherd boy.

XI

And after they had played awhile,

Thereafter they to talking fell,

And full an hour they did beguile

While each his state and lot did tell.

XII

For Jonquil spake of the little sheep,

And the tender ewes that know their names,

And he spake of his wattled hut for sleep,

And the country sports and the shepherds' games.

XIII

And he plucked a reed from the edge that girds

The river bank, and with his knife

Made a pipe, with a breath like the singing birds

When they flute to their loves in a musical strife.

XIV

And he told of the night so long and still

When he lay awake till he heard the feet

Of the goat-foot god coming over the hill,

And the rustling sound as he passed through the wheat.

XV

And Fleur-de-lys told of the king and the court,

And the stately dames and the slender pages,

Of his horse and his hawk and his mimic fort,

And the silent birds in their golden, cages.

XVI

And the jewelled sword with the damask blade

That should be his in his fifteenth spring ;

And the silver sound that the gold horns made,

And the tourney lists and the tilting ring.

XVII

And after that they did devise

For mirth and sport, that each should wear

The other's clothes, and in this guise

Make play each other's parts to bear.

XVIII

Whereon they stripped off all their clothes,

And when they stood up in the sun,

They were as like as one white rose

On one green stalk, to another one.

XIX

And when Jonquil as a prince was shown

And Fleur-de-lys as a shepherd lad,

Their mothers' selves would not have known

That each the other's habit had.

XX

And Jonquil walked like the son of a king

With dainty steps and proud haut look ;

And Fleur-de-lys, that sweet youngling,

Did push and paddle his feet in the brook.

XXI

And while they made play in this wise,

Unto them all in haste did run,

Two lords of the court, with joyful cries,

That long had sought the young king's son.

XXII

And to Jonquil they reverence made

And said, ' My lord, we are come from the king,

Who is sore vexed that thou hast strayed

So far without a following.'

XXIII

Then unto them said Fleur-de-lys

' You do mistake, my lords, for know

That I am the son of the king, and this

Is sweet Jonquil, my playfellow.'

XXIV

Whereat one of these lords replied,

' Thou lying knave, I'll make thee rue

Such saucy words.' But Jonquil cried,

' Nay, nay, my lord, 'tis even true.'

XXV

Whereat these lords were sore distressed,

And one made answer bending knee,

' My lord the prince is pleased to jest.'

But Jonquil answered, ' Thou shalt see.'

XXVI

Sure never yet so strange a thing

As this before was seen,

That a shepherd was thought the son of a king,

And a prince a shepherd boy to have been.

XXVII

' Now mark me well, my noble lord,

A shepherd's feet go bare and cold,

Therefore they are all green from the sward,

And the buttercup makes a stain of gold.

XXVIII

' That I am Jonquil thus thou shalt know,

And that this be very Fleur-de-lys

If his feet be like the driven snow,

And mine like the amber and verdigris.'

XXIX

He lifted up the shepherd's frock

That clothed the prince, and straight did show

That his naked feet all under his smock

Were whiter than the driven snow.

XXX

He doffed the shoes and the clothes of silk

That he had gotten from Fleur-de-lys,

And all the rest was as white as milk,

But his feet were like amber and verdigris.

XXXI

With that they each took back his own,

And when his second change was done,

As a shepherd boy was Jonquil shown

And Fleur-de-lys the king's true son.

XXXII

By this the sun was low in the heaven,

And Fleur-de-lys must ride away,

But ere he left, with kisses seven,

He vowed to come another day.

Caminante no Hay Camino by Antonio Machado (in Spanish)

Extracto de Proverbios y cantares (XXIX)

Caminante, son tus huellas

el camino y nada más;

Caminante, no hay camino,

se hace camino al andar.

Al andar se hace el camino,

y al volver la vista atrás

se ve la senda que nunca

se ha de volver a pisar.

Caminante no hay camino

sino estelas en la mar.

Sonnet VI by William Shakespeare (in English)

Then let not winter's ragged hand deface,

In thee thy summer, ere thou be distilled:

Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place

With beauty's treasure ere it be self-killed.

That use is not forbidden usury,

Which happies those that pay the willing loan;

That's for thy self to breed another thee,

Or ten times happier, be it ten for one;

Ten times thy self were happier than thou art,

If ten of thine ten times refigured thee:

Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart,

Leaving thee living in posterity?

   Be not self-willed, for thou art much too fair

   To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.