Translation:Twilight (Silva-3)

Next to the cradle it is still not alight The dim lamp, that makes happy and calms, And filters dully, between curtains Of the sad afternoon the bluish light. The children, tired, stop their games, From the street come strange noises, In these moments, in every room, The sleeping goblins are waking. The shadow that rises through the curtains, For the fair young listeners, Is populated and filled with the characters Of scary children's stories. In it floats poor Rin Rin Renacuajo, Runs and flees sad Ratoncito Perez, And it is darkened by the form of the tragic Bluebeard, who kills his seven wives. In some enormous, unknown distances, Throughout the dark corners, Walk through the fields Puss in Boots, and the Wolf that walks with Little Red Riding Hood. And, agile knight, crossing the jungle, The funeral do of a hunting dog resonates, At full gallop goes Prince Charming To see Sleeping Beauty. ..................................................   From the children's group rises smoothly Silver and pure, a voice, That begins: "Then they went to the dance   And left Cinderella alone!    "The poor sad girl stayed in the kitchen, Her eyes clouded from tears, Looking at the strange shapes That the red coals made in the black shadows. "But then came the Fairy that was her godmother,   And she brought her a dress of lace and crape,    And made her a golden coach from a pumpkin,    And made six mice into horses,    "She gave her an enormous boquet of fresh magnolia, Slippers made of glass, brilliant, And at a single touch from her magic wand The gray ashes became diamonds."   ...................................................    With rapt attention the girls listenend to her,    Dolls sleep, on the white carpet    Almost abandoned, and in the room    The light fades, the shadows grow!    ...................................................    Fantastic tales of goblins and fairies,    Full of scenery and suggestions,    You open from afar many images    For childish imaginations!    Stories that were born in unknown times    And that go, flying, through the dark,    From the powerful primitive Aryos,    To the sickly races of the future.    Stories that repeat simple nannys    Very gently, to children, when they don't sleep,    And that in themselves store up poetic dreams    With intimate enchantment, fragrance, and beginnings.    Stories more durable than the convictions    Of serious philosophers and wise schools,    And you surround with your fictions The gilded cradles of our great-grandparents. Fantastic tales of goblins and fairies You fill the confused dreams of children, Time burys you forever in their souls And man evoques you, with innermost care!