Francisco de Medrano

Soneto

Veré al tiempo tomar de ti, señora,
por mí venganza, hurtando tu hermosura;
veré el cabello vuelto en nieve pura,
que el arte y juventud encrespa y dora;

y en vez de rosas, con que tiñe ahora
tus mejillas la edad, ay, malsegura,
lilios sucederán en la madura,
que el pesar quiten y la embidia a Flora.

Mas cuando a tu belleza el tiempo ciego
los filos embotare, y el aliento
a tu boca hurtare soberana,

bullir verás mi herida, arder el fuego:
que ni muere la llama, calmo el viento;
ni la herida, embotado el hierro, sana.



Sonnet

I'll see time take upon you, lady mine,
my vengeance when your loveliness it steals;
I'll see your hair turned into purest snow,
which art and youth now curl and tinge with gold;

and in place of roses, with which age,
alas, so insecure, now dyes your cheeks,
lilies in your later years will come
to free Flora from pain and envy cold.

But when unseeing time the cutting edge
of your great beauty dulls, and when the breath
away from your now sovereign mouth it steals,

you'll still see my wound boil, my fire burn:
for neither flames die when the wind is calm;
nor does the wound, once dulled the weapon, heal. 

                     (©Alix Ingber, 1995)



 E-mail your comments and questions to:

Alix Ingber
Professor of Spanish
Sweet Briar College

ingber@sbc.edu



Navigation