Escolios de un ácrata civilizado
Chilled by the Present, its gloom and its noise, On waking we sigh for an ancient South, A warm nude age of instinctive poise, A taste of joy in an innocent mouth. At night in our huts we dream of a part In the balls of the Future: each ritual maze Has a musical plan, and a musical heart Can faultlessly follow its faultless ways. We envy streams and houses that are sure, But, doubtful, articled to error, we
Were never nude and calm as a great door. And never will be faultless like our fountains: We live in freedom by necessity, A mountain people dwelling among mountains.
W. H. AUDEN, Sonnets from China, XVIII.
Tu Ne Cede Malis.
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