|Translated from the Spanish by Zach Powell|
Through the air of the room, saturated
With a smell of strange old age,
Of twilight, the ray of evening,
Fades the brocade furniture.
The piano is next to the easel
And next to a bust of Dante the fine silhouette,
Of the arabesque blue of a chinese vase,
Half hiding the complicated drawing.
Next to the reddish rust of a suit of armor,
There is an old altarpiece, where, nervous,
Shines the light of the moulding's frame,
And they seem to clamor for a poet
Who would improvise while painting the room
With all the colors of the palette.