Antonio Machado, Towards a Radiant Sunset (Hacia un ocaso radiante…
“ The water flowed on beneath the arches of stone. The last red clouds crowned the hills stained with gray olive trees and blackened oaks. I walked wearily, feeling that old anguish of a heavy heart. The water in the shade passed so melancholically, beneath the arches of the bridge, as if its passage were saying: “Oh, traveler, barely having cast off from the tree by the river does the poor little boat sing: we are nothing. Where the poor river ends the immense sea awaits us. Beneath the eyes of the bridge the dark water flowed. ”
