Tropeço de ternura por ti

Could you traslate this?

I stumble of affection for you

Icíar Moix
its something like I make an error for you because you're tender?
sorry  but i'm so interested   
Renan Castro
17:11
Renan Castro
haha
ok, actually this is a prhase that can have more than one interpretation
because there is no "I" so the stumble could be a noun, istead of a verb.
sooo
i search for the sentence, and its a final part of Alexandre O'Neill's poem, called "Um adeus português"
Icíar Moix
17:15
Icíar Moix
wow 
I' knew that that phrase has got something more than words 
Renan Castro
17:15
Renan Castro
finally you can figure out your own view of this reading that in the context, here you are:

A Portuguese Goodbye

by Alexandre O’Neill*

In your highly dangerous eyes

the most rigorous love is still in vigour

the pure light of the shoulders and the shadow

of an already purified anguish

No you could not have stayed with me tied 

to the wheel in which I am rotting

in which we are rotting

tied to this paw tainted with blood this paw that falters

that almost meditates 

and moves forth bellowing through the tunnel

of an ancient pain

You could not have stayed in this chair

where I spend my bureaucratic day

in company of that day-by-day misery

that ascends to the eyes gets to the hands

to the smiles

to the wrongly spelled love

to stupidity to the mouthless despair

to fear in profile

to the sleepwalking joy to the maniac comma

of this functionary way of living

You could not have stayed with me in this house 

in mortal transit till that sordid 

canine

policing day

until that day that does not spring from the most pure

promise of dawn

but from the misery of a night engendered 

by an all-alike day 

You could not have stayed with me tied 

to this small pain that each one of us

carries gently by the hand

this small pain Portuguese style

so meek almost vegetal 

Why you do not deserve this city you do not deserve

this wheel of nausea in which we spin

till idiocy 

this small death 

and its thorough and dirty ritual

this absurd reason of our own for being

No you belong to the adventurous city

to the city where love finds its streets

and the burning graveyard 

of its death

you belong to the city where you live by a tread

of pure chance 

where you die or live not of asphyxiation

but by the hands of an adventure of a pure trade

free from the false coin of good and evil

In this curve so tender and so piercing 

which is going to be which already is your disappearing

I say goodbye

and like an adolescent

I stumble out of tenderness

for you

Alexandre O'Neill