The sad juggler
By
Horacio Quiroga
The bell rings dead
In the long avenues
And the long avenues
Awaken things of the dead.
In the orchard of apple
trees
Suicide rings,
And there is blood from the
wounds
Of a dog running from the
garden.
In the desert pavilion
The violets are asleep;
The violets are asleep
In the desert pavilion!
And the sore violets
In the desert pavilion,
Where he sings of the
mistake of
His most accomplished
victories,
They open my old wounds,
Like bells for the dead,
Old violets asleep
In the desert pavilion.