"The Girl Sheriff of Gila Gap" by Unknown Writer (in English)

art by Ed Smalle – Western Comics #39 – DC Comics, May 1953.

 

“Pulchra Ut Luna” by Alphonsus de Guimaraens (in Portuguese)

Celeste... É assim, divina, que te chamas.

Belo nome tu tens, Dona Celeste...

Que outro terias entre humanas damas,

Tu que embora na terra do céu vieste?

Celeste... E como tu és do céu não amas:

Forma imortal que o espírito reveste

De luz, não temes sol, não temes chamas,

Porque és sol, porque és luar, sendo celeste.

Incoercível como a melancolia,

Andas em tudo: o sol no poente vasto

Pede-te a mágoa do findar do dia.

E a lua, em meio à noite constelada,

Pede-te o luar indefinido e casto

Da tua palidez de hóstia sagrada.

“Abrir o Impossível” by Cecília Meireles (in Portuguese)

Tu tens um medo:

Se você errou

Se você errou, peça desculpas...

É difícil perdoar?

Mas quem disse que é fácil se arrepender?

Se você sente algo diga...

É difícil se abrir?

Mas quem disse que é fácil encontrar alguém que queira escutar?

Se alguém reclama de você, ouça...

É difícil ouvir certas coisas?

Mas quem disse que é fácil ouvir você?

Se alguém te ama, ame-o...

É difícil entregar-se?

Mas quem disse que é fácil ser feliz?

Nem tudo é fácil na vida...

Mas, com certeza, nada é impossível...

“Ballade de Marguerite” by Oscar Wilde (in English)

I am weary of lying within the chase

When the knights are meeting in market-place.

Nay, go not thou to the red-roofed town

Lest the hoofs of the war-horse tread thee down.

But I would not go where the Squires ride,

I would only walk by my Lady's side.

Alack! and alack! thou art overbold,

A Forester's son may not eat off gold.

Will she love me the less that my Father is seen

Each Martinmas day in a doublet green?

Perchance she is sewing at tapestrie,

Spindle and loom are not meet for thee.

Ah, if she is working the arras bright

I might ravel the threads by the fire-light.

Perchance she is hunting of the deer,

How could you follow o'er hill and mere?

Ah, if she is riding with the court,

I might run beside her and wind the morte.

Perchance she is kneeling in St. Denys,

(On her soul may our Lady have gramercy!)

Ah, if she is praying in lone chapelle,

I might swing the censer and ring the bell.

Come in, my son, for you look sae pale,

The father shall fill thee a stoup of ale.

But who are these knights in bright array?

Is it a pageant the rich folks play?

'T is the King of England from over sea,

Who has come unto visit our fair countrie.

But why does the curfew toll sae low?

And why do the mourners walk a-row?

O 't is Hugh of Amiens my sister's son

Who is lying stark, for his day is done.

Nay, nay, for I see white lilies clear,

It is no strong man who lies on the bier.

O 't is old Dame Jeannette that kept the hall,

I knew she would die at the autumn fall.

Dame Jeannette had not that gold-brown hair,

Old Jeannette was not a maiden fair.

O 't is none of our kith and none of our kin,

(Her soul may our Lady assoil from sin!)

But I hear the boy's voice chaunting sweet,

'Elle est morte, la Marguerite.'

Come in, my son, and lie on the bed,

And let the dead folk bury their dead.

O mother, you know I loved her true:

O mother, hath one grave room for two?

“Spring” by Lord Alfred Douglas (in English)

Wake up again, sad heart, wake up again !

(I heard the birds this morning singing sweet.)

Wake up again ! The sky was crystal clear,

And washed quite clean with rain ;

And tar below my heart stirred with the year,

Stirred with the year and sighed. O pallid feet

Move now at last, O heart that sleeps with pain

Rise up and hear

The voices in the valleys, run to meet

The songs and shadows. O wake up again !

Put out green leaves, dead tree, put out green leaves t

(Last night the moon was soft and kissed the air.)

Put out green leaves ! The moon was in the skies,

All night she wakes and weaves.

The dew was on the grass like fairies' eyes,

Like fairies' eyes. O trees so black and bare,

Remember all the fruits, the full gold sheaves;

For nothing dies,

The songs that are, are silences that were,

Summer was Winter. O put but green leaves!

Break through the earth, pale flower, break through the earth !

(All day the lark has sung a madrigal.)

Break through the earth that lies not lightly yet

And waits thy patient birth,

Waits for the jonquil and the violet,

The violet. Full soon the heavy pall

Will be a bed, and in the noon of mirth

Some rivulet

Will bubble in my wilderness, some call

Will touch my silence. O break through the earth.

Untitled Poem by José Thiesen (in Portuguese)

Ao F. M. Pires

Agora eu
Bebo dum
Cálice amargo.
Deu-mo
Ele, o erro
Fatal,
Gatuno de meu coração.
Hoje eu bebo,
Incerto de mim mesmo,
Juntando os cacos de mim
Morro mais e mais,
Na dor detido,
Ouvindo a
Porta que se fecha,
Quebrando de pavor.
Reajir eu tento,
Seguir adiante eu tento,
Tento esquecer de tudo, mas
Uma coisa só fica:
Vivo de amar-te e como
Xara, isso me fere o coração,
Zaida que me fustiga.

"The God of Tarzan" by Roy Thomas based on an original of Edgar R. Burroughs (in Enlgish)

art - John Buscema, and Alfredo Alcala - Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle #9 - Marvel, November 1977.