Clouded, my eyes, with troubled love 

That solely my own spirit could allay. 

For what patience could be patient, say,

With a faun whose instinct is to flee ? 

But, o, my love, love's ravages redeem 

With far, far greater beauty still.

5- Entre tus Manos

O, you, source of ceaseless sorrows, 

A heart that hopelessness inhabits 

Makes its plaint of pain to you,
4658

A plaint that comes to nought. 

Munificence, lady, its life, its death, 

Rests in the palms of your hands. 

You, malediction and deliverance, 

Mouth that mitigates all maladies, 

Administered my poisoned dose.

So judge and, in judging, know-

That resignation exalts me.