Há umas horas na noite, Horas sem nome e sem luz, Horas de febre e agonia Como as horas de Maria Debruçada aos pés da cruz. Tredos abortos do tempo, Cadeias de maldição, Vertem gêlo nas artérias, E sufocam, deletérias, Do poeta a inspiração. Nessas horas tumulares Tudo é frio e desolado; O pensador vacilante … Ler mais
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