To groves where stiliness sat supreme, Flee seers in quest of lagging rest: To regions where giant echos roar, Haste begotten sons in this lair: There man-born wrecks lie down and dream Of sea-winds that foam-billows bless'd, Of auric realms where censers pour Violaceous fumes thro' the air. And in the deep-hued depths of gore, (Blind bowels in Betelguese's hold) Gyte vandals that a Dragon bore Sleep with one eye as Midnight rules These sons of Circe whom pyres adore; Their thoughts vie with the luring fold, Each sleepless orb glares like a boar— Infernal hounds of shambling ghouls! Porphyry mounts where crystals glare— Twin carcants strung on idols' thighs Whereon stones, blaze like fire bright, And moonstones add their silver sheen, A Circean draught, boiled in the air, Is poured on cippus where Set lies; Where vanquished Soldans sleep each night, A greenish fungus-torch doth gleam. Giant battles have been fought in hell, Principalities rot in dust, The tombs of kings speak of the past When Incubi reigned with a rod. Unnumberéd bones adorn each dell— Where Rulers lie there stands a bust; Blood-stainéd the hands of him whose task Is blasting varlets like a god. And when some spirit stalks thro' space In quest of vaults—Temporal lees! Treads in the grandeur of dank hell, A batter'd shape that shakes its frame, Spacious regions Courage chase, Winds drive it to Misery's seas, Laughs ascend from sequesteréd well, Thro' shadows vague it hears its shame. And tomb-thrown groans and sighs we hear— Tho' midnight's near and afrite's sleep: An Owl, perturbéd at some strange sound, Scares bats in space and wings for domes. All signs of woe hath flown with fear, No maidens heave their breasts and weep, All wrecks of Flesh lie on the ground, Removed from shoals where Terror moans. On skulls that some in Death hath left, Croak toads to lizards in a well; In cajons that the Ancient's digged, Swim snakes that hiss at burning oils: And bats and owls that offal cleft, Proclaim their burdens to a dell, Whilst crafts that some strange witch hath rigged, Bring slaves unto this Cesspool's coils. When carcants gleam like scarlet foam, And hiss of pyres froth at each light In dongas vext as jazels flare From splinter'd tombs of Kings in dust, A straggling mist that cleft Hell's dome, Peers at the gloom and strobic sight Of charnel shard as vypers blare Wrathfully at each Monarch's bust. And doleful dirges rake the gloom, A whisper'd sin sobs at the wrecks; Graven imps clasp papyrus old And rant each Body's deeds of shame. Come from a dank and sunken womb All stranded ghouls on keels and decks Where Cyclops fought as Vellum told In cyphers bright, sprung from each flame, Make hideous eyes at the night. And terrors that Tartarus bred Assail each kingdom treblefold: A gangrel clan that someone flayed, Skirr thro' the dungeoned halls in flight And seek the caverns of the dead. Where tapers gleam like virgin gold The tombs of dead queens are arrayed: There, too, a witch unfurls her cowl And scans the shambling hordes to curse, And with the light that cyclones split, She juggles secrets of her lust, And hurls her voice at Néphele's owl, Past portals dark, where harlots nurse Their skinless limbs that Torture bit, And stamps her feet into the dust As, into olpes she pours a tear: And, musing at the clouds of gloom, She wrinkles face and lifts her hands To mutter words unto the night. Whereon a ghoul-king hath writ Fear, And changes gloom to purple bloom, The shoals to opal-sanded strands That reach, past wrecks to crystal light, Where mossy vales with poppies bloom, And hastes her flight from Terror's urn, To onyx seas where agates glow, And feats her eyes on woes of hell, Upon the foam-dreams of king Doom, Where monsters in red cauldrons burn, 'Mid shrieks that from their vitals flow With airs that rasp each bone-strewn dell. And sea-linkt skies of charnel black— A savage dome! streaked scarlet red, Where maids for demon lovers mourn; And caskets spew a dusky foam That quench the thirst of yon lone wrack That holds the sultry, naked dead, Who caught the eyes of waves forlorn, Now bathed in blood in Hecate's home. There garnet wrought and purple lights Shine thro' poisoned vials of age On churning pomps of casements old, Where, when lofty aisles and halls Ring rich with tenor runes in nights Made solemn by a hoary sage With darkling eyes that gleam like gold, A prowling vandal storms the walls, Nursed with dank venom broths and oils. A blood-shot minx hunts for a man; In stys and broken pyxs she peers For him who ruined her honour, soul; A harlot doomed in clinging coils That now her longings curse and damn, Squats on a skull and pulls her ears: Or, just when she finds her life-goal,— A cow'ring cur hid from the sight Beneath a putrid mount of bone, And tombs grow dank as rising sun Makes red each dragon in the West, She splits his heart and rasps with might, A curse that rides the surging foam, A message that this dastard son Dies longing for a fatal quest— Surcease of soul and conscience lost! Then rants she sins unto each tomb That sweat the lusts of those in dust, And scarlet foam and hiss of oils That her black deed to domes hath tossed, Break into writhing life and bloom As iron crowns and ceptres rust Of fall'n monarchs crossed in coils. Anear, two carcants glare like gold; Afar, a ruby's light of red Straggles thro' the pellicléd mist, And to its vinewed dell haste I, To catch the fleeting whispers told To marble-lamps and head-stones, said, By demon-husbands as I list, To hold each mongrel harlot's sigh. There, then, in tatter'd rags and hair, Coarse-grained of features once so fine, She spews her evil wrath and rage Into the wriggling hands and face Of him who lifts his voice to swear A curse that stirs the air, whose time (Tho' to king Satan speeds a page) Hath come as Vengeance wins the race. When crimson skies and stellor eyes Swathed palace domes and turrets strong, Her lips kiss'd mine, and mine did hers, Ere evil smote her virgin soul. And livid lights of bleeding dyes (Whenas she prods him with her prong) Make terrible her words so terse That brands this scoundrel on this shoal. And mutt'ring quick a ghastly oath As turgid mists veil shadows vague, She plucks his lying tongue that stole Her husband's love and honour old, And smites him stark and cold, tho' loath, It peers to me her demon-ague That binds her to this perjured soul, She drinks his gore from carvels cold And leers with fiendish lips at him, Now tossed in phosphorescent holes. And as I list to aspen cries, Veiled augueries in vapours hie And spell these tokens to each Inn: Kingdoms, empires, nations, souls, Shall miss the haunts of Paradise, And in Subjection, crumbling, lie. And when the regions, wrapped in light By pillared dreams and pomps supreme As curses stir the charnel air That hide dank caverns deep and bold, A battling monster smites the night As lepers wink their orbs and dream Of maidens that the men forswear, Of templed vaults now stiff in cold. And when a dim, unholy tomb, Wreathes odours damp and vapours strong— Heirs of the Doomed! as savage domes Drip palsied sweat and carnal howls Assail the stationed halls of gloom, Where imps and devils march along Beside a monarch's crumbling bones As witches don their filthy cowls And rant their sins thro' whistling halls, Shake women fists at fleeing souls And wail for bâtard children dead; Whilst quickly from the burning dust Ascends an oath that storms the walls And rasps the distant mounts and shoals Until each pyre glows scarlet red, Each idol leers with wicked lust. Forth from rubies flare scented fumes As beacons glare and bubbles hiss To crimson strands and altars' glow Of burning oils in carvels deep, Where; when Torture's bloody dome looms Cold as shambling shapes of men kiss Trembling women before the show, Wraiths point to where their daughters weep.

To lie in vaults and chambers cold
'Mid tombs that ghouls in hatred wrought!
To sleep in dank Subjection's shard
'Mid hanuts of purple sins and shales
A Thirst gyre! as bleak, untold,
As ever haunted woman sought
For incubi on scented sward
As bleary owls and vulpine wails
Rake stationed nights and seas forlorn,
Until, when star-linkt domes are red,
And Oceans' shells and sands grow white,
Dusky isles and lights—Twins of the Gloom!
Betray each soul cursed and forsworn;
Or awed, at Twilights' scarlet bed,
When nightshades blot the conjured light
As javels vomit death and doom,
Dank vapours veil the seaward flight
Of Satellites gray 'gainst the night,
Till, eyes in fear peer at profounds
Unfathomed and, in vales unsunned,
See Cyclops battling in the light,
'Mid scarlet foam and gorey sight
Of bloody domes and hybrid hounds
Of Titan's forges, cold, unstunned.
Oh, vain each sinner's prayer of hope!
Alas, alas, all thoughts of future trust!
The bloody lanes of reigning Doom
Are lasting tombs for souls accurst.
When in a pool we lie and mope
As vaulted temples rot in dust,
Vague shapes and forms ascend to spell
Infernal chasms of black gloom.
When crested waves of billowed sea
Are lashed by winds from foreign shoal,
And foam-set breasts are dashed on high
As silence holds the voiceless air,
Unsavoury dreams haunt each lee—
The maw of Hell receives a soul!
A leering fiend blinks at the sky.

Beyond the realm of rulling Care,
Caressed by suns and moons most fair,
We fain would hye, all wrecks, and lie
In dusky forests dells and vales;
Beyond the Asian skies of blue,
Where sports an elf, mayhap a hare,
We fain would haste, each soul, and die,
Unfurl all dreams and pinioned sails,
And sleep unmourned in haunts we knew,
Now wracks and domes stare at each soul,
Giant goddards leak a rubic foam;
Blind forges hold Contagion's breath;
A Morgan longs for earthly home.
,Tis so with hell's eternal shoal
Where skinks eat flesh from wenches' bone;
Tis thus with us purloined by Death,
Infernal doom that spells a moan.
Ten thousand years was Doom crown'd King;
Sporadic prayers each gnarl'd one lisped;
Despotic sway all subjects curs'd
When Hell was new and Earth unborn:
Now souls of man in torture sing,
Each Idol's glyph by damn'd one's kiss'd,
Who then shall say who is the worst,
A vyper's brood or man forsworn?

Rapine, The spawn of ancient Wrong, With all the hosts of slaughter That our own sins must breed- Cold Hate, Oppression's daughter, And Rage, the child of Greed. Then, though we stand to battle As men have ever stood, Down, down shall crash our temples, The Evil and the Good; Yea, all that now we cherish Must pass--but not in vain. The gods we love shall perish; The sons of the gods shall reign! So, strong in faith, or weak in doubt, Or berserk-mad, we range Our spears in that long battle Which means not Death, but Change.

Ragnarok {The Twilight OF The Gods}

HO! Heimdal sounds the Gjallar-horn:
The hosts of Hel rush forth
And Fenris rages redly
From his shackles in the North
Unleashed is Garm, and Lok is loosed,
And freed is Giant Rime;
The Rainbow-bridge is broken
By the hordes of Muspelheim.
The wild Valkyries ride the wind
With spear and clanging shield
Where all the Hates embattled
Are met on Vigrid-field;
For there shall fall the Mighty Ones
By valiant men adored--
Great Odin, Tyr the fearless,
And Frey that sold his sword. .
And Thor shall slay the dragon
Whose breath shall be his bane.
The gods themselves shall perish:
The sons of the gods shall reign!

Old Time shall sound the boding horn
Again and yet again, rouse the warring passions
That swell the hearts of men.
Revolt shall wake, and Anarchy,
With all their horrid throng--
Revenge, Destruction Rapine,
The spawn of ancient Wrong,
With all the hosts of slaughter
That our own sins must breed-
Cold Hate, Oppression's daughter,
And Rage, the child of Greed.
Then, though we stand to battle
As men have ever stood,
Down, down shall crash our temples,
The Evil and the Good;
Yea, all that now we cherish
Must pass--but not in vain.
The gods we love shall perish;
The sons of the gods shall reign!

So, strong in faith, or weak in doubt,
Or berserk-mad, we range
Our spears in that long battle
Which means not Death, but Change.
Our highest with our lowest
Must own the grim behest,
And Good shall yield for Better--
Else how should come the Best?
Yet if we win our portion
How dare we crave the whole?
And if we still press forward,
Why need we know the goal?
But those whose hearts are constant
And those whose souls are wise
Have said that from our ashes .
A nobler race shall rise
From shreds of shattered altars
To rear the Perfect Fane.
Our little gods must perish
That God I himself shall reign!

Não sei se de ti só, Filis, me queixe, Se de mim, se do Amor, se da ventura, Ou se de todo meus queixumes deixe. Sinto a pena que passo, áspera e dura, Sem nunca me deixar um só momento, 5 Causada só da tua fermosura. Vejo em mim sempre vivo o gram tormento Qu'em ti só tom remédio, e se me nega, Nem vô ua só esperança o pensamento. Ver- te e não ver- te me desassossega, 10 Em nada posso achar, Filis, repouso, E a alma ja de cansada á dor s'entrega. Cuidar somente em ti, Filis, não ouso; f. 151 v°. Mouro por vêr-te, e não espero tanto, Nem no bem nem no mal, Filis, repouso. 15 Só quando de teu nome escrevo ou canto, O meu dano sintir menos pudera Dando-te versos, voz, estilo e canto: Se par' eles em ti brandura ouvera, Que como os ofereço os aceitara, Mas que versos, então, Filis, te dera?

A voz a teus louvores levantara, 
Sofrera -me em meus danos e queixumes, 
Só teu nome escrevera e só cantara. 

Tomara luz dos teus dous claros lumes 25 

Para seguir os teus claros louvores, 
Mas segue Amor os seus duros costumes; 

f. I52r°. Tem-me entre duras penas, vivas dores, 
De ti, fermosa Filis, desprezado, 
Nem quer que inda de vivo tenha as cores. 30 

Mas quam mal, Filis, ó do Amor julgado . 
Que quem fia fermcsura vê tani nova 
Possa ser de tristeza nunca entrado! 

Fermosura, que todo esprito aprova 
Por maior, por mais só, por mais perfeita, 35 

E em que o mundo s'alegra e se renova! 

Fermosura, que deixa satisfeita 
Toda vista, tod' alma, toda vida, 
Por quem tod' outra vista est' alma engeita, 

Est' alma, que por ti sempre perdida 40 

Anda, fermosa Filis, sempre triste, 
f. I52v°. Porque não 6 de ti ja socorrida! 

Vê como contra mi a tristeza insiste! 
Vê como está d'est' alma tam entregue 
Que té 'qui neste estado outra não viste! 45 

Quem averá que piedade negue 
A tanta dôr? e quem remédio certo 
Não dará a quem tal dano tanto segue? 

Filis, este meu mal não 6 encuberto, 
Todos o vêm, de todos 6 entendido 50 

Quantas vezes com ele desconcerto. 


— 157 — 

Se me quero queixar, som mais perdido, 
Por que eu mesmo averei por desatino 
Queixar, Filis, de mal por ti sofrido. 

E se de ti me queixo, a quem contino 55 

f.l53r°. A prazer, grande Filis, só desejo, 
De te amar serei inda mais indino; 

Que s'eu em ti essa fermosura vejo, 
Tam desusada, tam maravilhosa, 
Por cujo puro amor, Filis, me rejo, 60 

Como ei d'aver a dor por rigurosa 
Que de vêr-te me nace, se só vêr-te 
Ma pode fazer branda e piedosa? 

A minha sorte, Filis, 6 querer- te: 
Isto só sei fazer, isto só faço, 65 

Nem teme o meu amor nunca ofender-te. 

De quanto te amo não me satisfaço 
Não te podendo amar mais do que te amo, 
Nem perco d'este amor um breve espaço. 

M53v°. E s'eu por este amor, Filis, me chamo 70 

Mil e mil vezes com razão ditoso, 
E quanto no mundo ha por ti desamo, 

Como poderei ser de mim queixoso? 
Ou como não serei de mim contente? 
E meu nome averei por venturoso? 75 

Que quem teu brando amor no peito sente, 
Inda que o trate como duro e grave, 
Toda dôr passar deve alegremente. 

E inda que vêr-te, Filis, a alma agrave 
E a possa encher de mil desconfianças, 80 

Também vêr-te fará tudo suave. 

To a first approximation, the residents of these countries own as much in foreign real estate and financial instruments as foreignersown of theirs. Contrary to a tenacious myth, France is not owned by California pension funds or the Bank of China, any more than the United States belongs to Japanese and German investors. The fear of getting into such a predicament is so strong today that fantasy often outstrips reality. The reality is that inequality with respect to capital is a far greater domestic issue than it is an international one. Inequality in the ownership of capital brings the rich and poor within each country into conflict with one another far more than it pits one country against another. This has not always been the case, however, and it is perfectly legitimate to ask whether our future may not look more like our past, particularly since certain countries—Japan, Germany, the oil-exporting countries, and to a lesser degree China—have in recent years accumulated substantial claims on the rest of the world (though by no means as large as the record claims of the colonial era). Furthermore, the very substantial increase in cross-ownership, in which various countries own substantial shares of one another, can give rise to a legitimate sense of dispossession, even when net asset positions are close to zero The Idea of National Income It will be useful to begin with the concept of “national income,” to which I will frequently refer in what follows. National income is defined as the sum of all income available to the residents of a given country in a given year, regardless of the legal classification of that income. National income is closely related to the idea of GDP, which comes up often in public debate. There are, however, two important differences between GDP and national income. GDP measures the total of goods and services produced in a given year within the borders of a given country. In order to calculate national income, one must first subtract from GDP the depreciation of the capital that made this production possible: in other words, one must deduct wear and tear on buildings, infrastructure, machinery, vehicles, computers, and other items during the year in question. This depreciation is substantial, today on the order of 10 percent of GDP in most countries, and it does not correspond to anyone’s income: before wages are distributed to workers or dividends to stockholders, and before genuinely new investments are made, worn-out capital must be replaced or repaired. If this is not done, wealth is lost, resulting in negative income for the owners. When depreciation is subtracted from GDP, one obtains the “net domestic product,” which I will refer to more simply as “domestic output” or “domestic production,” which is typically 90 percent of GDP. Then one must add net income received from abroad (or subtract net income paid to foreigners, depending on each country’s situation). For example, a country whose firms and other capital assets are owned by foreigners may well have a high domestic product but a much lower national income, once profits and rents flowing abroad are deducted from the total. Conversely, a country that owns a large portion of the capital of other countries may enjoy a national income much higher than its domestic product. Symbolically, the inequality of capital and labor is an issue that arouses strong emotions. It clashes with widely held ideas of what is and is not just, and it is hardly surprising if this sometimes leads to physical violence. For those who own nothing but their labor power and who often live in humble conditions (not to say wretched conditions in the case of eighteenth-century peasants or the Marikana miners), it is difficult to accept that the owners of capital —some of whom have inherited at least part of their wealth—are able to appropriate so much of the wealth produced by their labor. Capital’s share can be quite large: often as much as one-quarter of total output and sometimes as high as one-half in capital-intensive sectors such as mining, or even more where local monopolies allow the owners of capital to demand an even larger share. Of course, everyone can also understand that if all the company’s earnings from its output went to paying wages and nothing to profits, it would probably be difficult to attract the capital needed to finance new investments, at least as our economies are currently organized (to be sure, one can imagine other forms of organization). Furthermore, it is not necessarily just to deny any remuneration to those who choose to save more than others—assuming, of course, that differences in saving are an important reason for the inequality of wealth. Bear in mind, too, that a portion of what is called “the income of capital” may be remuneration for “entrepreneurial” labor, and this should no doubt be treated as we treat other forms of labor. This classic argument deserves closer scrutiny. Taking all these elements into account, what is the “right” split between capital and labor? Can we be sure that an economy based on the “free market” and private property always and everywhere leads to an optimal division, as if by magic? In an ideal society, how would one arrange the division between capital and labor? How should one think about the problem? The Capital-Labor Split in the Long Run: Not So Stable If this study is to make even modest progress on these questions .....On August 16, 2012, the South African police intervened in a labor conflict between workers at the Marikana platinum mine near Johannesburg and the mine’s owners: the stockholders of Lonmin, Inc., based in London. Police fired on the strikers with live ammunition. Thirty-four miners were killed. As often in such strikes, the conflict primarily concerned wages: the miners had asked for a doubling of their wage from 500 to 1,000 euros a month. After the tragic loss of life, the company finally proposed a monthly raise of 75 euros. This episode reminds us, if we needed reminding, that the question of what share of output should go to wages and what share to profits—in other words, how should the income from production be divided between labor and capital?—has always been at the heart of distributional conflict. In traditional societies, the basis of social inequality and most common cause of rebellion was the conflict of interest between landlord and peasant, between those who owned land and those who cultivated it with their labor, those who received land rents and those who paid them. The Industrial Revolution exacerbated the conflict between capital and labor, perhaps because production became more capital intensive than in the past (making use of machinery and exploiting natural resources more than ever before) and perhaps, too, because hopes for a more equitable distribution of income and a more democratic social order were dashed. I will come back to this point. The Marikana tragedy calls to mind earlier instances of violence. At Haymarket Square in Chicago on May 1, 1886, and then at Fourmies, in northern France, on May 1, 1891, police fired on workers striking for higher wages. Does this kind of violent clash between labor and capital belong to the past, or will it be an integral part of twenty-first-century history?

By 2010, and despite the crisis that began in 2007–2008, capital was prospering as it had not done since 1913. Not all of the consequences of capital’s renewed prosperity were negative; to some extent it was a natural and desirable development. But it has changed the way we look at the capital-labor split since the beginning of the twenty-first century, as well as our view of changes likely to occur in the decades to come. Furthermore, if we look beyond the twentieth century and adopt a very long-term view, the idea of a stable capital-labor split must somehow deal with the fact that the nature of capital itself has changed radically (from land and other real estate in the eighteenth century to industrial and financial capital in the twenty-first century). There is also the idea, widespread among economists, that modern economic growth depends largely on the rise of “human capital.” At first glance, this would seem to imply that labor should claim a growing share of national income. And one does indeed find that there may be a tendency for labor’s share to increase over the very long run, but the gains are relatively modest: capital’s share (excluding human capital) in the early decades of the twenty-first century is only slightly smaller than it was at the beginning of the nineteenth century. The importance of capital in the wealthy countries today is primarily due to a slowing of both demographic growth and productivity growth, coupled with political regimes that objectively favor private capital.

NAS FARTAS PLANTAS OS MANTRAS DAS DESPEDIDAS QUE SOBEJAM SORTES DE VENCIDAS E AS PLANTAS RINDO ESTÃO DESPIDAS NO FRIO INVERNO NAS HORAS IDAS

As plantas rindo estão, estão vestidas
De verde variado de mil cores;
Cantam tarde e manhã os seus amores
As aves, que d'Amor andam vencidas.
As neves, já nos montes derretidas,
Regam nos baixos vales novas flores;
Alegram as cantigas dos pastores
As Ninfas pelos bosques escondidas.
O tempo, que nas cousas pode tanto,
A graça, que por ele a terra perde,
Lhe torna com mais graça e fermosura.
Só pera mim nem flor nem erva verde,
Nem água clara tem, nem doce canto,
Que tudo falta a quem falta ventura.



Onde porei meus oihos que não veja
A causa, donde nasce meu tormento?
A que parte irei co pensamento
Que pera descansar parte me seja?
já sei como s'engana quem deseja,
Em vão amor firme contentamento,
De que, nos gostos seus, que são de vento,
Sempre falta seu bem, seu mal sobeja.
Mas inda, sobre claro desengano,
Assim me traz est'alma sogigada,
Que dele está pendendo o meu desejo;
E vou de dia em dia, de ano em ano,
Após um não sei quê, após um nada,
Que, quanto mais me chego, menos vejo.



Meu pátrio Lima, saudoso e brando,
Como não sentirá quem Amor sente,
Que partes deste vale descontente,
Donde também me parte suspirando?
Se tu, que livre vás, vás murmurando,
Que farei eu, cativo, estando ausente?
Onde descansarei de dor presente,
Que tu descansarás no mar entrando?
Se te não queres consolar comigo,
Ou pede ao Céu que nossa dor nos cure,
Ou que trespasse em mim tua tristeza:
Eu só por ambos chore, eu só murmure,
Que d'um fado cruel o curso sigo,
Não tu, que segues tua natureza.



Águas do claro Lima, que corria
Pera mim, noutro tempo, claro e puro,
Que correr vejo agora turvo, escuro,
Quem afogou em vós minh'alegria?
Cuidei que com vos ver descansaria
Do mal do cativeiro, triste e duro;
Mas mais sem gosto aqui, menos seguro
Me vejo, do que me vi em Berberia.
Mudança vejo aqui em arvoredos:
Creceram muitos, muitos acabaram,
Fez seu ofício em tudo a natureza;
Duas cousas, porém, não se mudaram:
Lugar e duro ser destes penedos,
De vossos naturais teima a dureza.



ALHEIO
Que vistes meus olhos
Neste bem, que vistes
Que vos vejo tristes?
VOLTAS
As vossas lembranças
Não vos dão tormentos,
Nem levam os ventos
Vossas esperanças.
Não sei que mudanças
Vós de novo vistes,
Que vos vejo tristes.
Que dor ou que medos
Causam vossa dor?
Lágrimas d'amor
Descobrem segredos.
Eu vos via ledos;
Vós não sei que vistes,
Que vos vejo tristes.




Escapei de cem mil Mouros,
e nesta serra Somata
Üa só Moura me mata.
VOLTAS
Vede quem dará certeza
A sucessos da ventura!
Pois faz em mim a brandura
O que não fez a crueza:
É tal sua gentileza
Que, nesta serra Somata,
Ela é a que só mata.
Quem haverá que não moura
Por esta Moura que mouro,
Se nos seus cabelos d'ouro
O Sol se prende e se doura?
É rosada, alva, e loura.
Não sei se lhe chame ingrata,
Pois um seu cativo mata.
Certo que, se livre fora
Do cativeiro em que vivo,
A me querer por cativo,
Não quisera outra senhora.
Com me matar me namora,
E quando melhor me trata,
Então de todo me mata.