June 25, 2015 at 11:37AM on Facebook

The last stanza really makes this poem for me, because it’s an experience I’ve had myself all too often: enjoying the other-worldly beauty of a moonlit night (or a spectacular early morning, etc.), when suddenly something shifts in the air or the light and everything’s ordinary again. A wonderful translation by Jean Morris for the Poetry from the Other Americas series at Via Negativa.
La blanca soledad / Pale Solitude by Leopoldo Lugones