"Thou flowest, on in quiet, till thy waves grow broken midst the rocks, thy current then shoots onward like the irresistible course of destiny. Ah, terribly the rage - the hoarse and rapid whirlpools there! My brain grows wild, my senses wander, as I gaze upon the hurrying waters, and my sight, vainly would follow, as toward the verge sweeps the wide torrent. Waves innumerable meet there and madden waves innumerable urge on and overtake the waves before, and disappear in thunder and in foam. They reach, they leap the barrier - the abyss swallows insatiable the sinking waves. A thousand rainbows arch then, and woods are deafened with the roar. What seeks my restless eye. Why are not here, about the jaws of this abyss, the palms - ah, the delicious palms - that on the plains of my own native Cuba spring and spread their thickly foliaged summits to the sun, and in the breathings of the ocean air wave soft beneath the heaven’s unspotted blue. Hear, dread Niagara, my latest voice! Yet a few years, and the cold earth shall close over the bones of him who sings thee now. Thus feelingly, would that this, my humble verse, might be, like thee, immortal! I, meanwhile, cheerfully passing to the appointed rest, might raise my radiant forehead in the clouds to listen to the echoes of my fame. To the Niagara from the Cuban People, October 1989."
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