Vladimir Nabokov. El duende del bosque : Клуб изучающих испанский языкVladimir Nabokov. El duende del bosque
Vladimir Nabokov. El duende del bosque
native rivers are melancholy, there is no frisky hand to splash up the moon-gleams. Silent are the orphaned bluebells that remain, by chance, unmown, the pale-blue gusli that once served my rival, the ethereal Field-Sprite, for his songs. The shaggy, friendly, household spirit, in tears, has forsaken your besmirched, humiliated home, and the groves have withered, the pathetically luminous, magically somber groves....
"It was we, Rus', who were your inspiration, your unfathomable beauty, your agelong enchantment! And we are all gone, gone, driven into exile by a crazed surveyor.
"My friend, soon I shall die, say something to me, tell me that you love me, a homeless phant