Jose Marti

(1853-1895 / Cuba)

A mi alma


Llegada la hora del trabajo

¡Ea, jamelgo! De los montes de oro
Baja, y de andar en prados bien olientes
Y de aventar con los ligeros cascos
Mures y viboreznos, y al sol rubio
Mecer gentil las brilladoras crines!

¡Ea, jamelgo! Del camino oscuro
Que va do no se sabe, ésta es posada,
Y de pagar se tiene al hostelero!
Luego será la gorja, luego el llano,
Luego el prado oloroso, el alto monte:

Hoy, bájese el jamelgo, que le aguarda
Cabe el duro ronzal la gruesa albarda.

Submitted: Tuesday, August 31, 2010

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