Antero Quental

Fly on misfortune's wing as black as night,

Your thought of love, your shadow of an hour

That I embraced delirious in my tower.

Fly as a windswept cloud, and pass from sight.

We drive away from us the one with right

To hold our soul with all his strength and power.

Its blood refreshes, bids him to devour

As friends may share the chalice shining bright.

Let hope be but a dream, or even less;

Although it always comes with pain and dole,

Deceiving all except misfortune's scope.

If suffering silently were but redress!

Wrap up within yourself, my own sad soul,

Perhaps there may be fortune, without hope.

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