Name: Un libro para las damas
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

Chapter 1 No.1

No es la poesía tan sólo aquel rayo que ilumina la mente del que hace versos.

La poesía está en el mundo bajo diversas formas, y vive entre nosotros sin que nos apercibamos de su presencia.

La poesía en la mujer es hermana del sentimiento, es la blanca y perfumada flor que brota en el corazon: cuando el huracan del dolor ha agostado todas las demas flores del alma, la de la poesía desplega su corola más hermosa que nunca.

Las lágrimas son su rocío; la resignacion es el sol benéfico que la calienta con sus tibios resplandores.

La poesía es la compa?era inseparable de la mujer buena y la que embellece el hogar doméstico. ?Desgraciada la mujer que la desconoce, y desgraciado tambien el hombre que busca, para compa?era suya, una mujer prosaica y materialista! Si busca un alma fria, se encontrará con un alma dura; si busca un corazon destituido de ilusiones, será fácil que halle un corazon vacío y desgarrado.

Toda mujer que cuida de embellecer su casa y de hacer dichosa á su familia, tiene un alma poética.

Una madre meciendo á su hijo sobre sus rodillas, junto á un balcon entoldado de flores, está rodeada, á mis ojos, de una poesía tan bella como elocuente.

Una jóven sentada al lado de su anciano padre, leyendo con suave y dulce voz, para distraerle en las largas noches de invierno, ofrece un cuadro de tierna y sublime poesía.

No he conocido un sér más poético que una jóven, hija de un anciano militar, que se casó con un pobre empleado de pocos a?os y de ménos haberes: yo la conocí despues de casada y madre de un ni?o de algunos meses; vivia ademas con ellos su anciano padre, compartiendo la modesta y casi mísera existencia de sus hijos.

El tedio se apoderaba de mi ánimo cuando iba con mi madre á casa de alguna de sus opulentas y ociosas amigas: mi corazon, tan jóven que áun no sabía darse cuenta de sus emociones, se adormecia en el fondo de mi pecho.

Aquella monótona magnificencia; aquellos salones en los que el lujo se aglomeraba bajo mil diferentes aspectos, respirando en todos la vanidad; aquellas pesadas colgaduras de seda, que velaban el resplandor del sol; aquellos divanes, en fin, destinados á enervar en una so?olienta molicie al que los ocupase, me causaban un hastío que no podia vencer.

?Con qué afan deseaba que mi madre me concediera permiso para ir á casa de mi jóven amiga!

Margarita me atraia con una simpatía incomprensible en mi edad, pues yo no tenía aún doce a?os, y la amaba con la mayor ternura. Ella contaba apénas veintidos primaveras, y su carácter, lleno de una apacible alegría, alejaba de aquella casa á la tristeza, que no perdia la ocasion de asomar á la puerta su torva faz.

Mi amiga cuidaba de su padre, de su esposo y de su hijo: su cari?oso esmero se extendia tambien al balcon de su cuarto, que era un verdadero jardin, y á dos tórtolas que, prisioneras en una jaula de ca?as, colocada entre las macetas, se arrullaban dulcemente y se alisaban con su pico la delicada y sedosa pluma.

Siempre que iba yo á ver á Margarita la encontraba en su casa; su peque?o gabinete no tenía otros muebles que algunas sillas de enea, una mesa de graciosa hechura, sobre la cual habia siempre dos jarros de loza llenos de flores, y un armario y la cuna del ni?o, velada con cortinas de muselina blanca: junto á aquella cuna bordaba Margarita todo el tiempo que la dejaban libre sus deberes domésticos; el sueldo de su esposo era muy corto, y ella hacía el sacrificio de sus horas de reposo, entregándose á aquella ocupacion que producia algun dinero, con que contribuia al bienestar de su familia. Los que dicen que el trabajo perjudica á la salud, asientan un error: Margarita era un prodigio de belleza floreciente, de dulce y encantadora lozanía: cubria sus mejillas un sonrosado delicioso, y sus ojos brillaban con la dicha y el contento.

La ocupacion contínua es lo que conserva la tranquilidad en el espíritu de la mujer, lo que le trae una grata calma, y esa alegría igual y dulce que nace de la quietud del ánimo; el ocio es su más cruel enemigo, porque el ocio vicia su corazon, embota su entendimiento, hiela su alma y adormece todos sus buenos instintos.

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Un libro para las damas

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