Drunken the moonlight, drunken of horizontes,
We thought that life was holding each other
The rumour of the pine woods, the blue of the hills
And all the green gardens of the Sea.
But solitary we are and pass,
They are not ours the fruits and flowers,
The Sky and Sea pass away on the outside
And become the ghosts the we dream of.
For what gardens that we will not harvest,
Cleanly the dawn that is being born,
For what the Sky and the Sea that we will not be
Never the Gods that able to live them.
Sophia de Mello Breyner
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