Francisco de Aldana

Soneto XVII

Mil veces digo, entre los brazos puesto
de Galatea, que es más que el sol hermosa;
luego ella, en dulce vista desdeñosa,
me dice, "Tirsis mío, no digas esto."

Yo lo quiero jurar, y ella de presto
toda encendida de un color de rosa
con un beso me impide y presurosa
busca atapar mi boca con su gesto.

Hágole blanda fuerza por soltarme,
y ella me aprieta más y dice luego:
"No lo jures, mi bien, que yo te creo."

Con esto de tal fuerza a encadenarme
viene que Amor, presente al dulce juego,
hace suplir con obras mi deseo.



Sonnet #XVII

A thousand times I say, in Galatea's
arms, that she's more lovely than the sun;
then she, with a sweet look, disdainfully,
tells me, "My Tyrsis, do not tell me that."

I try to swear it, and she, suddenly,
her face now blazing with a rosy hue
restrains me with a kiss and hastily
my words with her own lips seeks to combat.

I struggle with her mildly to break free,
and she holds me more tightly and then says,
"Don't swear, my love, I know it's not a lie."

With this she so completely shackles me
that Love, a witness to our gentle play,
causes with deeds my hope to satisfy. 

                     (©Alix Ingber, 1995)



 View commentary process (Requires Flash Player)



E-mail your comments and questions to:

Alix Ingber
Professor of Spanish
Sweet Briar College

ingber@sbc.edu



Navigation