Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Meira Delmar

PROMISE

Some blue and flowered morning
we shall sweetly go, hand in hand

to listen to the stories the brook whispers
before the amazement of the bare stones . . . 

We shall say, love, just one word:
our eyes will speak in their language of magic,

and the curious breeze will arrive quite still
without breaking the spell of the enchanted tour . . . 

Afterwards . . . like a bunch of beautiful new grapes
cut from the grapevine by inexpert hands-

I will leave in your mouth with some fear
the ignored flavor of my first kisses . . .

PROMESA

PROMESA

En alguna mañana azul y florecida
iremos dulcemente, con las manos unidas

a escuchar las historias que el arroyo murmura
ante el fácil asombro de las piedras desnudas . . . 

No diremos, amado, una sola palabra:
hablarán nuestros ojos su lenguaje de magia,

y la brisa curiosa llegará muy callada
sin romper el embrujo de la hora encantada…

Después . . . como un racimo de hermosas uvas nueva 
 – tronchadas de la vid por manos tempraneras – 

yo dejaré en tu boca con un poco de miedo,
el sabor ignorado de mis besos primeros . . . 
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PROMISE

Some blue and flowered morning
we shall sweetly go, hand in hand

to listen to the stories the brook whispers
before the amazement of the bare stones . . . 

We shall say, love, just one word:
our eyes will speak in their language of magic,

and the curious breeze will arrive quite still
without breaking the spell of the enchanted tour . . . 

Afterwards . . . like a bunch of beautiful new grapes
cut from the grapevine by inexpert hands-

I will leave in your mouth with some fear
the ignored flavor of my first kisses . . .

PROMISE

Some blue and flowered morning
we shall sweetly go, hand in hand

to listen to the stories the brook whispers
before the amazement of the bare stones . . . 

We shall say, love, just one word:
our eyes will speak in their language of magic,

and the curious breeze will arrive quite still
without breaking the spell of the enchanted tour . . . 

Afterwards . . . like a bunch of beautiful new grapes
cut from the grapevine by inexpert hands-

I will leave in your mouth with some fear
the ignored flavor of my first kisses . . .
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