Marisabel

By the strange way of speaking
I sensed the tragedy within
and kissing the back of her beautiful neck
I said to her: Jealous, do you bear me a grudge?
If my sonnets and songs to Esther
my sonnets and songs to Esther,
in confidence I swear in your ear,
Esther is you, my Marisabel.

You will always be my queen and mistress,
there is no Amalia, Susana or Esther.
You alone inspire my sonnets
with different names, my Marisabel.

She parted her hair and I saw
her little face, full of light,
her virgin breast throbbing,
she told me tearfully: You are my life.
I idolize you and I don't want to think
that another inspires your love verses.
And drawing me, softly, towards her
her silken lips she offered me.