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  By: (1867-1900)

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Só by António Pereira Nobre is a beautifully crafted collection of poetry that delves into themes of love, longing, and melancholy. Nobre's words are hauntingly descriptive, painting vivid images of sorrow and heartbreak. The emotions conveyed in each poem are raw and powerful, evoking a sense of empathy and introspection in the reader.

Nobre's mastery of language is evident throughout the book, with each poem carefully constructed and intricately woven. The imagery he creates is both delicate and profound, capturing the complexity of human emotions with elegance and grace.

The themes explored in Só are universal and relatable, making it a poignant and moving read for anyone who has experienced the highs and lows of love. Nobre's words have a way of reaching deep into the soul, resonating with the reader on a personal level.

Overall, Só is a captivating and poignant collection of poetry that showcases Nobre's talent as a writer. This book is a testament to the power of words in capturing the essence of human emotion, leaving a lasting impact on those who read it.

First Page:

Je déclare que M. Francisco de França Amado, libraire éditeur, 141, rua da Calçada, Coimbra: est mon unique représentant et dépositaire de o «Só», pour le Portugal.

L.V.

ANTONIO NOBRE

PARIS

LÉON VANIER, ÉDITEUR

19, QUAI SAINT MICHEL, 19

1892

Tous Droits Réservés

MEMORIA Á MINHA MÃE AO MEU PAE

Aquelle que partiu no brigue Boa Nova , E na barca Oliveira , annos depois, voltou; Aquelle santo (que velhinho e jà corcova) Uma vez, uma vez, linda menina amou: Tempos depois, por uma certa lua nova, Nasci eu... O velhinho ainda cà ficou, Mas ella disse: «Vou, alli adiante, à Cova , Antonio, e volto jà...» E ainda não voltou! Antonio é vosso. Tomae là a vossa obra! «Só» é o poeta nato, o lua , o santo, a cobra! Trouxe o d'um ventre: não fiz mais do que escrever... Lede o e vereis surgir do poente as idas magoas, Como quem ve o sol sumir se, pelas agoas, E sobe aos alcantis para o tornar a ver!

Antonio

Que noite de inverno! Que frio, que frio! Gelou meu carvão: Mas boto o á lareira, tal qual pelo estio, Faz sol de verão!

Nasci, n'um Reino d'Oiro e flores Á beira mar.

Ó velha Carlota, tivesse te ao lado, Contavas me historias: Assim..... Continue reading book >>




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