the two slopes of time

The hair of that mountain
glistens with centuries,
frozen.

On this side of it,
and on the other,
it is the same; two slopes
of green mirrors.

I do not hurry;
I love to contemplate further from a peak of time
two slopes of mirrors.
When I want to, I say;
One is my body;
the other is my thought.

And it occurs to me to think:
one is the chain of habit,
the shadow of yesterday.
The other is freedom!

There I go!
My soul will go before the stars
that it has vaguely seen,
for it does not wear chains like them.
And eternity must lie in the future for me
and that is all,
because that is what thought believes,
in infancy,
and infancy is the only time when we are
truly prophets.

But the hair of time
glistens with centuries,
frozen.

Emilio Oribe

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love’s madness

He seems as fortunate as the gods who
sits where he can look in your eyes, who listens
close to you, to hear the soft voice, its sweetness
murmur in love and

laughter, all for him. But it breaks my spirit;
sets my heart trembling in my breast.
For when I look at you for a moment, the voice dies,
I can say nothing,

but my lips are stricken to silence, underneath
my skin the tenuous flame suffuses;
nothing shows in front of my eyes, my ears are
muted in thunder.

And the sweat breaks running upon me,
a trembling seizes me all over, I am greener
than grass, and it seems to me that
I am little short of dying.

Sappho