Cruz Salmerón Acosta — Venezuela, 1892 (Translated by José Wan Díaz)
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Piedad No era ni amor lo que ella me tenía; era tal vez piedad, lástima era, porque mi oculta pena comprendía y ella se compadece de cualquiera. Hoy que voy recobrando mi alegría, animado quizás de una quimera, se va tornando mucho menos mía, como si ella ya no me quisiera. Yo sí he formado de mi amor un culto, y en tanto aquí mi juventud sepulto y la aureola del martirio ciño. ¡No me quites, Señor; mi sufrimiento, si es que habré de perder con mi tormento la conmiseración de su cariño! |
Pity It wasn't even love what she felt for me; it was, perhaps pity, surely compassion, because my hidden pain she understood and she's sympathetic towards anybody. Today that I'm recovering my happiness, spurred on maybe by an illusion, she's turning much less mine, as if she didn't want me anymore. I have formed of my love a cult, and meantime my youth I bury here and the halo of martyrdom I wear. Don't take away, oh Lord, my suffering, if I'm to lose along with my torment the commiseration of her affection. |