Oh Death! by Amado Nervo

To die is a true philosophical act.

NOVALIS.

Oh death! You are the mother of philosophy.

You ennoble the life of a WHO KNOWS!

And you give flavor to our melancholy hours.

In everything that is great—pain, love— there you are.

Triumphal arc of black marble, where it passes trough,

Dignified, the soul that never ceased fighting,

like a taciturn hero; gift, shelter and home

Of someone who naked and alone trampled the hard earth…

You add value to the lives of the most void and vulgar people:

Sancho Panza agonizes, and there is majesty in him.

You draw the faces o men with singular lines,

You, marvelous sculptor of Serenity!

All the gold of silence is yours. (The silver

Of the eloquence you leave for living fooolishly.)

Your silence says more than our verbal torrent

Of millenniums, in its vain flow.

Your pallid hand shuts the door of the room,

And then we see no more, we know no more.
Does a chrysalis morph behind all this?

What portentous alchemy goes on behind it?

Oh death! Creator of mystery: you made

Inquietude fly for the first time in pursuit

Of the Ideal. Looking at your august and sad face,

Man looked up and found God.

From Elevation