ista;[4]
Mientras la humanidad siempre avanzando
No sepa a do camina;[5]
Mientras haya un misterio para el hombre,
iHabra poesia!

Mientras sintamos que se alegra el alma,
Sin que los labios rian;
Mientras se llore sin que el llanto acuda
A nublar la pupila;

Mientras el corazon y la cabeza[6]
Batallando prosigan;
Mientras haya esperanzas y recuerdos,
iHabra poesia!

Mientras haya unos ojos que reflejen
Los ojos que los miran;
Mientras responda el labio suspirando
Al labio que suspira;
Mientras sentirse puedan en un beso
Dos almas confundidas;
Mientras exista una mujer hermosa,
iHabra poesia!

[Footnote 1: This poem is composed of hendecasyllabic and
heptasyllabic verses, with a pentasyllabic refrain. The
hendecasyllabic verses are partly of the first and partly of the
second class (see Introduction), while the heptasyllabic verses
have the required accent on the sixth syllable, with at least one
minor variable accent, and the pentasyllabic verses on the fourth,
according to rule. The even verses have the same assonance
throughout.]

[Footnote 2: De asuntos falta = 'through (_or_ for) lack of
subjects.' Prose order--_falta de asuntos_.]

[Footnote 3: de la luz al beso. Prose order--al beso de la luz.]

[Footnote 4: Mientras... resista. Man's inability to solve these
sovereign problems is nowhere more poetically expressed than in
Edward Fitzgerald's translation of Omar Khayyam's _Rubaiyat._
Compare--

(XXVII)
Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and Saint, and heard great argument
About it and about: but evermore,
Came out by the same door where in I went.

(XXXI)
Up from Earth's Center through the Seventh Gate
I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate,
And many a Knot unravel'd by the Road;
But not the Master-knot of Human Fate.

]

[Footnote 5: No sepa a do camina. This doubt seems to assail
frequently the mind of Becquer, as it does that of the old Persian
poet Omar Khayyam:

(XXIX)
Into this Universe, and _Why_ not knowing
Nor _Whence_, like water willy-nilly flowing;
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste
I know not _Whither_, willy-nilly blowing.

(LXIV)
Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who