Rubén Darío

In my verses, I sought the music of distant swans, colored with the dreamlike fragrance of modernismo, to awaken the Spanish language from its slumber.

Ask me about the azure worlds of Azul, the shining mysteries of Prosas profanas, or the hope and agony pouring from my Cantos de vida y esperanza.

Between Nicaragua’s tropics and the tumult of Europe, I gave wings to poetry, so it might fly forever beyond borders or time.