Ibarbourou- traducción final

The Wait


Oh, ripen, flax, for I want to weave you

into bed sheets where my lover

will slumber soon, soon he will return!

(With the spring he must return.)


Oh, rose, your tight bud unfurls!

You must be the bouquet that perfumes his parlor.

Intensify your colors, gather your fragrance,

open up your pores, for my lover arrives.


I will fasten his legs with shackles of gold.

Lightweight chains of the cleanest steel,

I will order with haste, with haste for love

is the blacksmith who makes them sparkling and eternal.


And I will sow poppies throughout all of the garden.

May he never remember the pathways nor the routes!

Fatigue: may your blindfolds squeeze his nerves.

Effeminacy: be the dog that guards the door.


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