'Wanderer, there are no roadways, roads you make as you explore.' Verse by verse, blow after blow. The world collection is inspired in the colors, flags, symbols, traditions, music of our favorites countries and cities in the. 'Wanderer, there are no roadways, roads you make as you explore.' Verse by verse, blow after blow. When he was still a child, Machado moved with his family to Madrid, where his father had obtained a professorship. The clay of strange lands is where he's resting. A A Caminante, no hay camino Todo pasa y todo queda, pero lo nuestro es pasar, pasar haciendo caminos, caminos sobre el mar. He was born in 1875 in Palacio de las Duenas on his family’s country estate. So long ago now, in times of yore, here where the woods now are clad in brambles, clamored a poet, ever so sore: 'Wanderer, there are no roadways, roads you make as you explore.' Verse by verse, blow after blow. Wanderer, there are no roadways, only wakes upon the sea. Step by step your road is charted, and behind your turning head lies complete the path you've trodden, not again for you to tread. Wanderer, it is your footprints winding down, and nothing more wanderer, no roads lie waiting, roads you make as you explore. How I like to watch them topping, glowing out of o ev'ry hue, soaring up toward the blue, then abruptly trembling, popping. Caminante y camino no pueden ser entendidas de manera holística, es decir, como un todo, pues son dos unidades diferentes. Ambas cosas existirían, pero no entendidas ya como camino y caminante. I have loved my worlds appeasing, subtly fleeting, gently pleasing, all with bubbles of a kind. Sin el camino no habría caminante, y sin caminante no habría camino. Never have I aimed for glory, nor to leave my song, my story in the people's heart and mind. All things pass and stay forever, yet we pass eternally, drawing footpaths in our passing, footpaths on the restless sea.
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