Soneto gongorino en que el poeta manda a su amor una paloma
Este pichón del Turia que te mando,
de dulces ojos y de blanca pluma,
sobre laurel de Grecia vierte y suma
llama lenta de amor do estoy parando.
Su cándida virtud, su cuello blando,
en limo doble de caliente espuma,
con un temblor de escarcha, perla y bruma
la ausencia de tu boca está marcando.
Pasa la mano sobre su blancura
y verás qué nevada melodía
esparce en copos sobre tu hermosura.
Así mi corazón de noche y día,
preso en la cárcel del amor oscura,
llora sin verte su melancolía.
Gongoran sonnet in which the poet sends a dove to his beloved
I send this dove from Tuna to you.
With its endearing eyes and whitest feathers
it spreads love's fire, and also proffers
the Grecian laurel that the flames consume.
Its honest virtue and its supple throat
twice soiled by slime and scalding foam---
its tremors, frost and misty pearls combined---
bespeak the absence of your mouth. But wait,
just run your hands across its purity
and you will know its snowy melody,
as snowflakes swirl about and cloud your beauty.
Such is my heart---by night and through the day
deprived of you it cries pure melancholy,
imprisoned in dark love that will not die.
Translated by Rafael CampoEtiquetas: Federico García Lorca |
