Poetry Archives

From the Spanish of Sor Marcela de Carpio.


Let them say to my Lover
  That here I lie!
The thing of His pleasure,
  His slave am I.

Say that I seek Him
  Only for love,
And welcome are tortures
  My passion to prove.

Love giving gifts
  Is suspicious and cold;
I have all, my Beloved,
    When Thee I hold.

Hope and devotion
    The good may gain;
I am but worthy
    Of passion and pain.

So noble a Lord
    None serves in vain,
For the pay of my love
    Is my love’s sweet pain.

I love Thee, to love Thee,—
    No more I desire;
By faith is nourished
    My love’s strong fire.

I kiss Thy hands
    When I feel their blows;
In the place of caresses
    Thou givest me woes.

But in Thy chastising
    Is joy and peace.
O Master and Love,
    Let Thy blows not cease.

Thy beauty, Beloved,
    With scorn is rife,
But I know that Thou lovest me
    Better than life.

And because Thou lovest me,
    Lover of mine,
Death can but make me
    Utterly Thine.

I die with longing
    Thy face to see;
Oh! sweet is the anguish
    Of death to me!