Dichosos el arbol, que apenas sensitivo,
y mas la piedra dura por que esa ya no siente,
pues no hay dolor mas grande que el dolor de ser vivo,
ni mayor pesadumbre que la vida consciente

Ser y no saber nada, y ser sin rumbo cierto,
y el temor de haber sido y un futuro terror...
y el espanto seguro de estar mañana muerto,
y sufrir por la vida y por la sombra y por

lo que no conocemos y apenas sospechamos,
y la carne que tienta con sus frescos racimos,
y la tumba que aguarda con sus funebres ramos,

¡y no saber a donde vamos
ni de donde venimos!




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Happy arbol, that hardly sensitive,
and but the stone lasts so that that no longer feels,
because there is no great pain but that the pain being alive,
nor greater sorrow than the conscious life

To be and not to know anything,
and to be without certain course,
and the fear of to have been and a future terror...
and the safe fright to be tomorrow dead,

and to suffer by the life and the shade and by
what we do not know and as soon as we suspected,
and the meat that it touches with his fresh clusters,

and the tomb that funebres waits with his branches,
and not to know to where we go nor of where we come!