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What has roots as nobody sees,
Is taller than trees,
Up, up it goes,
And yet never grows?

  Thirty white horses on a red hill,
First they champ,
Then they stamp,
Then they stand still.

Voiceless it cries,
Wingless it flutters,
Toothless bites,
Mouthless mutters.

  It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,
Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt.
It lies behind stars and under hills,
And empty holes it fills.
It comes first and follows after,
Ends life, kills laughter.

A box without hinges, key, or lid,
Yet golden treasure inside is hid.

  Alive without breath,
As cold as death;
Never thirsty, ever drinking,
All in mail never clinking.

This thing all things devours:
Birds, beast, trees, flowers;
Gnaws iron, bites steel;
Grinds hard stones to meal;
Slays king, ruins town,
And beats high mountain down.

  You feel it, but never see it and never will.

You must keep it after giving it.

  As light as a feather, but you can't hold it for ten minutes.

Has a mouth but does not speak, has a bed but never sleeps.

  Runs smoother than any rhyme, loves to fall but cannot climb!

You break it even if you name it!

  It passes before the sun and makes no shadow.

You feed it, it lives, you give it something to drink, it dies.

  A red drum which sounds
Without being touched,
And grows silent,
When it is touched.

Two horses, swiftest travelling,
Harnessed in a pair, and
Grazing ever in places
Distant from them.

  A harvest sown and reaped on the same day
In an unplowed field,
Which increases without growing,
Remains whole though it is eaten
Within and without,
Is useless and yet
The staple of nations.
If you break me
I do not stop working,
If you touch me
I may be snared,
If you lose me
Nothing will matter.
  All about, but cannot be seen,
Can be captured, cannot be held
No throat, but can be heard.

I go around in circles,
But always straight ahead
Never complain,
No matter where I am led.

  Lighter than what
I am made of,
More of me is hidden
Than is seen.
If a man carried my burden,
He would break his back.
I am not rich,
But leave silver in my track.

  My life can be measured in hours,
I serve by being devoured.
Thin, I am quick
Fat, I am slow
Wind is my foe.

Weight in my belly,
Trees on my back,
Nails in my ribs,
Feet I do lack.

  You can see nothing else
When you look in my face
I will look you in the eye
And I will never lie.
I am always hungry,
I must always be fed,
The finger I lick
Will soon turn red.
  Three lives have I.
Gentle enough to soothe the skin,
Light enough to caress the sky
Hard enough to crack rocks.

La Mansión del Inglés. http://www.mansioningles.com
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