"O Sorriso do Tio Pavel Pleffel" (Chapter IX) by José Thiesen (in Portuguese)

            A nuvem estendia-se  para além da vista e sobre ela, uma infinidade de aves em torno de uma grande mesa repleta da melhor comida e bebida.

            Ao verem que o sr. Pavel chegara, as aves vieram em vôo ou corrida para ele e o rodearam, cumprimentando-o num coro uníssono cuja beleza jamais voltei a ouvir.

            - Heis que sempre viestes, exclamou uma ave esquisita.

            - Venerável Dodô! Eu jamais faltaria a um convite seu!

            - E este é o seu novo amigo?

            - Um dos filhos da Terra.

            - E o filho da Terra não fala?

            - Falo, sim, disse quase atrevido, para afastar de mim qualquer idéia de intimidação.

            - E como é o teu nominho?

            - Sérgio. E o teu?

            - Sou o Venerável Dodô.

            - Venerável?

           - Porque sou o último de minha espécie. Mas venham, Pavel e Sério! Desfrutem de nossa festa no céu!

            A festa no céu!

           O sr. Pavel logo deixou-me só, solicitado que era por todas as aves que, obviamente, lhe davam a mais alta importância.

           Acerquei-me da mesa, repleta de a comida mais extravagante que comida, colorida, perfumada e muito, muito gostosa.

            Eu sentia-me desajustado, ali, pois nunca estivera tão só, rodeado de seres estranhos a mim. Estava acostumado a espantar pardais e pombos na calçada, mas aqui, eram eles que me poderiam jogar para fora da nuvem. Mas este sentimento de desajustamento parecia ser somente meu, pois as aves aceitavam-me com a indiferença de eu ser um igual a elas.

"The Return of The Fugitive" by Eric Freiwald and Robert Schaefer (in English)

art by  Russ Manning - Four Color #1291 – Dell, March 1962.

 

“En la Cruz Está la Vida” by St. Therese of Avila (in Spanish)

En la cruz está la vida

y el consuelo,

y ella sola es el camino

para el cielo.

En la cruz está "el Señor

de cielo y tierra",

y el gozar de mucha paz,

aunque haya guerra.

Todos los males destierra

en este suelo,

y ella sola es el camino

para el cielo.

De la cruz dice la Esposa

a su Querido

que es una "palma preciosa"

donde ha subido,

y su fruto le ha sabido

a Dios del cielo,

y ella sola es el camino

para el cielo.

Es una "oliva preciosa"

la santa cruz

que con su aceite nos unta

y nos da luz.

Alma mía, toma la cruz

con gran consuelo,

que ella sola es el camino

para el cielo.

Es la cruz el "árbol verde

y deseado"

de la Esposa, que a su sombra

se ha sentado

para gozar de su Amado,

el Rey del cielo,

y ella sola es el camino

para el cielo.

El alma que a Dios está

toda rendida,

y muy de veras del mundo

desasida,

la cruz le es "árbol de vida"

y de consuelo,

y un camino deleitoso

para el cielo.

Después que se puso en cruz

el Salvador,

en la cruz está "la gloria

y el honor",

y en el padecer dolor

vida y consuelo,

y el camino más seguro

para el cielo.

"The Ass and the Charger" by Aesop (in English)

An ass congratulated a Horse on being so ungrudgingly and carefully provided for, while he himself had scarcely enough to eat and not even that without hard work. But when war broke out, a heavily armed soldier mounted the Horse, and riding him to the charge, rushed into the very midst of the enemy. The Horse was wounded and fell dead on the battlefield. Then the Ass, seeing all these things, changed his mind, and commiserated the Horse.

“4º Motivo da Rosa” by Cecília Meireles (in Portuguese)

Não te aflijas com a pétala que voa:

também é ser, deixar de ser assim.

Rosas verá, só de cinzas franzida,

mortas, intactas pelo teu jardim.

Eu deixo aroma até nos meus espinhos

ao longe, o vento vai falando de mim.

E por perder-me é que vão me lembrando,

por desfolhar-me é que não tenho fim.

“Recompense” by Robert E. Howard (in English)

I have not heard lutes beckon me, nor the brazen bugles call,

But once in the dim of a haunted lea I heard the silence fall.

I have not heard the regal drum, nor seen the flags unfurled,

But I have watched the dragons come, fire-eyed, across the world.

I have not seen the horsemen fall before the hurtling host,

But I have paced a silent hall where each step waked a ghost.

I have not kissed the tiger-feet of a strange-eyed golden god,

But I have walked a city's street where no man else had trod.

I have not raised the canopies that shelter revelling kings,

But I have fled from crimson eyes and black unearthly wings.

I have not knelt outside the door to kiss a pallid queen,

But I have seen a ghostly shore that no man else has seen.

           

I have not seen the standards sweep from keep and castle wall,

But I have seen a woman leap from a dragon's crimson stall,

And I have heard strange surges boom that no man heard before,

And seen a strange black city loom on a mystic night-black shore.

And I have felt the sudden blow of a nameless wind's cold breath,

And watched the grisly pilgrims go that walk the roads of Death,

And I have seen black valleys gape, abysses in the gloom,

And I have fought the deathless Ape that guards the Doors of Doom.

I have not seen the face of Pan, nor mocked the Dryad's haste,

But I have trailed a dark-eyed Man across a windy waste.

I have not died as men may die, nor sin as men have sinned,

But I have reached a misty sky upon a granite wind.

"Ballad of Reading Gaol" - Version I, Part II by Oscar Wilde (in English)

II.

Six weeks our guardsman walked the yard,

In a suit of shabby grey:

His cricket cap was on his head,

And his step seemed light and gay,

But I never saw a man who looked

So wistfully at the day.

I never saw a man who looked

With such a wistful eye

Upon that little tent of blue

Which prisoners call the sky,

And at every wandering cloud that trailed

Its raveled fleeces by.

He did not wring his hands, as do

Those witless men who dare

To try to rear the changeling Hope

In the cave of black Despair:

He only looked upon the sun,

And drank the morning air.

He did not wring his hands nor weep,

Nor did he peek or pine,

But he drank the air as though it held

Some healthful anodyne;

With open mouth he drank the sun

As though it had been wine!

And I and all the souls in pain,

Who tramped the other ring,

Forgot if we ourselves had done

A great or little thing,

And watched with gaze of dull amaze

The man who had to swing.

And strange it was to see him pass

With a step so light and gay,

And strange it was to see him look

So wistfully at the day,

And strange it was to think that he

Had such a debt to pay.

For oak and elm have pleasant leaves

That in the spring-time shoot:

But grim to see is the gallows-tree,

With its adder-bitten root,

And, green or dry, a man must die

Before it bears its fruit!

The loftiest place is that seat of grace

For which all worldlings try:

But who would stand in hempen band

Upon a scaffold high,

And through a murderer's collar take

His last look at the sky?

It is sweet to dance to violins

When Love and Life are fair:

To dance to flutes, to dance to lutes

Is delicate and rare:

But it is not sweet with nimble feet

To dance upon the air!

So with curious eyes and sick surmise

We watched him day by day,

And wondered if each one of us

Would end the self-same way,

For none can tell to what red Hell

His sightless soul may stray.

At last the dead man walked no more

Amongst the Trial Men,

And I knew that he was standing up

In the black dock's dreadful pen,

And that never would I see his face

In God's sweet world again.

Like two doomed ships that pass in storm

We had crossed each other's way:

But we made no sign, we said no word,

We had no word to say;

For we did not meet in the holy night,

But in the shameful day.

A prison wall was round us both,

Two outcast men were we:

The world had thrust us from its heart,

And God from out His care:

And the iron gin that waits for Sin

Had caught us in its snare.