"Na Penumbra" by Raimundo Correia (in Portuguese)

Raiava, ao longe, em fogo a lua nova,

Lembras-te?... apenas reluzia a medo,

Na escuridão crepuscular da alcova

O diamante que ardia-te no dedo...

Nesse ambiente tépido, enervante,

Os meus desejos quentes, irritados,

Circulavam-te a carne palpitante,

Como um bando de lobos esfaimados...

Como que estava sobre nós suspensa

A pomba da volúpia; a treva densa

Do teu olhar tinha tamanho brilho!

E os teus seios que as roupas comprimiam,

Tanto sob elas, túmidos, batiam,

Que estalavam-te o flácido espartilho!

"Reinvenção" by Cecília Meireles (in Portuguese)

A vida só é possível reinventada.

Anda o sol pelas campinas

e passeia a mão dourada

pelas águas, pelas folhas...

Ah! tudo bolhas

que vem de fundas piscinas

de ilusionismo... — mais nada.

Mas a vida, a vida, a vida,

a vida só é possível

reinventada.

Vem a lua, vem, retira

as algemas dos meus braços.

Projeto-me por espaços

cheios da tua Figura.

Tudo mentira! Mentira

da lua, na noite escura.

Não te encontro, não te alcanço...

Só — no tempo equilibrada,

desprendo-me do balanço

que além do tempo me leva.

Só — na treva,

fico: recebida e dada.

Porque a vida, a vida, a vida,

a vida só é possível

reinventada.

The Tunnel Scheme by Unknown Writer (in English)

art by Frank Giacoia. Four Colors #1169 - Dell, March 1961. 

 

"The Riders of Babylon" by Robert E. Howard (in English)

The riders of Babylon clatter forth

Like the hawk-winged scourgers of Azrael

To the meadow-lands of the South and North

And the strong-walled cities of Israel.

They harry the men of the caravans,

They bring rare plunder across the sands

To deck the throne of the great god Baal.

But Babylon's king is a broken shell

And Babylon's queen is a sprite from Hell;

And men shall say, "Here Babylon fell,"

Ere Time has forgot the tale.

The riders of Babylon come and go

From Gaza's halls to the shores of Tyre;

They shake the world from the lands of snow

To the deserts, red in the sunset's fire;

Their horses swim in a sea of gore

And the tribes of the earth bow down before;

They have chained the seas where the Cretans sail.

But Babylon's sun shall set in blood;

Her towers shall sink in a crimson flood;

And men shall say, "Here Babylon stood,"

Ere Time forgot the tale.

"Athanasia" by Oscar Wilde (in English)

To that gaunt House of Art which lacks for naught

Of all the great things men have saved from Time,

The withered body of a girl was brought

Dead ere the world's glad youth had touched its prime,

And seen by lonely Arabs lying hid

In the dim wound of some black pyramid.

But when they had unloosed the linen band

Which swathed the Egyptian's body,- lo! was found

Closed in the wasted hollow of her hand

A little seed, which sown in English ground

Did wondrous snow of starry blossoms bear,

And spread rich odors through our springtide air.

With such strange arts this flower did allure

That all forgotten was the asphodel,

And the brown bee, the lily's paramour,

Forsook the cup where he was wont to dwell,

For not a thing of earth it seemed to be,

But stolen from some heavenly Arcady.

In vain the sad narcissus, wan and white

At its own beauty, hung across the stream,

The purple dragon-fly had no delight

With its gold-dust to make his wings a-gleam,

Ah! no delight the jasmine-bloom to kiss,

Or brush the rain-pearls from the eucharis.

For love of it the passionate nightingale

Forgot the hills of Thrace, the cruel king,

And the pale dove no longer cared to sail

Through the wet woods at time of blossoming,

But round this flower of Egypt sought to float,

With silvered wing and amethystine throat.

While the hot sun blazed in his tower of blue

A cooling wind crept from the land of snows,

And the warm south with tender tears of dew

Drenched its white leaves when Hesperos uprose

Amid those sea-green meadows of the sky

On which the scarlet bars of sunset lie.

But when o'er wastes of lily-haunted field

Athanasia by Oscar Wilde (in English)

The tired birds had stayed their amorous tune,

And broad and glittering like an argent shield

High in the sapphire heavens hung the moon,

Did no strange dream or evil memory make

Each tremulous petal of its blossoms shake?

Ah no! to this bright flower a thousand years

Seemed but the lingering of a summer's day,

It never knew the tide of cankering fears

Which turn a boy's gold hair to withered gray,

The dread desire of death it never knew,

Or how all folk that they were born must rue.

For we to death with pipe and dancing go,

Nor would we pass the ivory gate again,

As some sad river wearied of its flow

Through the dull plains, the haunts of common men,

Leaps lover-like into the terrible sea!

And counts it gain to die so gloriously.

We mar our lordly strength in barren strife

With the world's legions led by clamorous care,

It never feels decay but gathers life

From the pure sunlight and the supreme air,

We live beneath Time's wasting sovereignty,

It is the child of all eternity.

"Voici Venir le Temps" by Lord Alfred Douglas (in English)

Now is the hour when, swinging in the breeze,

Each flower, like a censer, sheds its sweet.

The air is full of scents and melodies,

O languorous waltz ! O swoon of dancing feet!

Each flower, like a censer, sheds its sweet,

The violins are like sad souls that cry,

O languorous waltz ! O swoon of dancing feet!

A shrine of Death and Beauty is the sky.

The violins are like sad souls that cry,

Poor souls that hate the vast. black night of Death ;

A shrine of Death and Beauty is the sky.

Drowned in red blood, the Sun gives up his breath.

This soul that hates the vast black night of Death

Takes all the luminous past back tenderly,

Drowned in red blood, the Sun gives up his breath.

Thine image like a monstrance shines in me.

"Ecclesiastes" (Chapter V) by Qoheleth (in English)

1 Be not hasty in your utterance and let not your heart be quick to make a promise in God's presence. God is in heaven and you are on earth; therefore let your words be few.

2 For nightmares come with many cares,

and a fool's utterance with many words.

3 When you make a vow to God, delay not its fulfillment. For God has no pleasure in fools; fulfill what you have vowed. 4 You had better not make a vow than make it and not fulfill it. 5 Let not your utterances make you guilty, and say not before his representative, "It was a mistake," lest God be angered by such words and destroy the works of your hands.

6 For Every dream, a vanity to match;

Too many words, a chasing of the wind.

Rather, fear God!

7 If you see oppression of the poor, and violation of rights and justice in the realm, do not be shocked by the fact, for the high official has another higher than he watching him and above these are others higher still – 8 Yet an advantage for a country in every respect is a king for the arable land.

9 The covetous man is never satisfied with money,

and the lover of wealth reaps no fruit from it;

so this too is vanity.

10 Where there are great riches,

there are also many to devour them.

Of what use are they to the owner except to feast his eyes upon? 11 Sleep is sweet to the laboring man, whether he eats little or much, but the rich man's abundance allows him no sleep. 12 This is a grievous evil which I have seen under the sun: riches kept by their owner to his hurt. 13 Should the riches be lost through some misfortune, he may have a son when he is without means. 14 As he came forth from his mother's womb, so again shall he depart, naked as he came, having nothing from his labor that he can carry in his hand. 15 This too is a grievous evil, that he goes just as he came. What then does it profit him to toil for wind? 16 All the days of his life are passed in gloom and sorrow, under great vexation, sickness and wrath.

17 Here is what I recognize as good: it is well for a man to eat and drink and enjoy all the fruits of his labor under the sun during the limited days of the life which God gives him; for this is his lot. 18 Any man to whom God gives riches and property, and grants power to partake of them, so that he receives his lot and finds joy in the fruits of his toil, has a gift from God. 19 For he will hardly dwell on the shortness of his life, because God lets him busy himself with the joy of his heart.