«youth, divine treasure, You're leaving now and you won&

«youth, divine treasure, You're leaving now and you won't be back! When I want to cry, I don't cry... And sometimes I cry without wanting to... Plural has been the heavenly history of my heart. She was a sweet girl, In this world of mourning and affliction. I looked like the pure dawn; She smiled like a flower. It was her dark hair made of night and pain. I was shy as a child. She, naturally, was, for my love made of ermine, Herodias and Salome... youth, divine treasure, You're leaving and not coming back! When I want to cry, I don't cry... And sometimes I cry without wanting to... And more comforting and more flattering and expressive, la otra was más sensitiva cual no pensé encontrar jamás. Sometimes they were in water, because to their continued tenderness a violent passion united. In a peplos of pure gauze a bacchante was wrapped... In his arms he took my dream and rocked it like a baby... And he killed you, sad and small, lacking light, lacking faith... youth, divine treasure, You left never to return! When I want to cry, I don't cry... And sometimes I cry without wanting to... Another judged that my mouth was the case of her passion; and that would gnaw at me, loca, with his teeth the heart. Setting the sights of his will on an excessive love, while they were hug and kiss synthesis of eternity; and from our light flesh always imagine an Eden, without thinking that Spring and meat also end... youth, divine treasure, You're leaving and not coming back! When I want to cry, I don't cry... And sometimes I cry without wanting to. And the others! In so many climates, In so many lands they are always, if not pretexts of my phantom rhymes of my heart. In vain I searched for the princess who was sad to wait. Life is hard. Bitter and heavy. There is no princess left to sing about! But despite the stubborn time, My thirst for love has no end; with gray hair, I approach the rose bushes in the garden... youth, divine treasure, You're leaving and not coming back! When I want to cry, I don't cry... And sometimes I cry without wanting to... But the golden dawn is mine!». A picture about this