Sparks of blood, dark heat And litanies sung in a low voice, Decorate the insolent night, A magical jingle Flies through the throats Of...

La espesa noche huérfana de púrpuras diamantinas Atesora los recuerdos de los niños que dibujan Las olvidadas sonrisas claras Que...

The thick night, orphaned of diamond purples, Hoards the memories of children who draw The forgotten bright smiles That scattered on beds...

Yesterday I was reviewing an anthology of poems by Walt Whitman, the book published with the title Leaves of Grass. I was impressed by...