Qué tontÃn eres.
Empiezo con Whitman:
A word then, (for I will conquer it,)
The word final, superior to all,
Subtle, sent upâwhat is it?âI listen;
Are you whispering it, and have been all the time, you sea-waves?
Is that it from your liquid rims and wet sands?
Whereto answering, the sea,
Delaying not, hurrying not,
Whisperâd me through the night, and very plainly before day-break,
Lispâd to me the low and delicious word DEATH;
And again Deathâever Death, Death, Death,
Hissing melodious, neither like the bird, nor like my arousâd childâs heart,
But edging near, as privately for me, rustling at my feet,
Creeping thence steadily up to my ears, and laving me softly all over,
Death, Death, Death, Death, Death.
