When the low and heavy sky weighs like a lid
On the spirit groaning in the prey of long troubles,
And when from the horizon embracing the whole circle
It sheds upon us a sadder black day than the nights;
When the earth is changed into a damp dungeon,
Or Hope, like a bat,
Goes away beating the walls with its timid wing
And this banging head has rotten ceilings;
When the rain spreading its immense trails
Of a vast prison imitates the bars,
And a mute people of infamous spiders
Comes to spread its nets deep in our brains,
Bells suddenly jump with fury
And launch towards the sky a terrible howl,
As do wandering and homeless spirits
br/>Who begin to wail obstinately.
- And long hearses, without drums or music,
Slowly parade in my soul, Hope,
Conquered, cries, and the Atrocious, despotic anguish,
On my inclined skull plants its black flag.

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