You are a Universe of Universes And your Soul a source of Songs.

Poetry will exist as long as there is a problem of life and death

The treacheries of ambition never cease.

The America of Moctezuma and Atahualpa,the aromatic America of Columbus,Catholic America, Spanish America,the America where noble Cuauhtémoc said: "I am not on a bed of roses"-our America trembling with hurricanes, trembling with Love: O men with Saxon eyes and barbarous souls, our America lives. And dreams. And loves. And it is the daughter of the Sun. Be careful.

Sweet as sweetest Grecian honey will my song be when I sing, O Beloved, in the season of the Spring!

You are a Universe of Universes And your Soul a source of Songs.