Sonatina by Ruben Dario

Edinburg Library welcomes local author Alejandro Cabada Fernández today

Edinburg Library welcomes local author Alejandro Cabada Fernández today

Free Translation

The princess is sad ... from the princess slips
such sighs in her words from the strawberry lips. Gone from them laughter and the warm light of day. Pallid she is sat in her golden chair,
unsounded the keys of the harpsichord there, and a flower, from a vase, has swooned away.

The peacocks in the garden parade their tails. The duenna's chatter is incessant and stales. The pirouetting jester is tricked out in red, yet nothing she cares for and she does not smile but follows a dragonfly that flits while while the wander in the east is her dream-lost head.

Does a prince from China or Golconda approach,
does she think of one stepping from his silver coach,
bedazzled by her beauty in the sky's soft blues, to court her with islands of fragrant roses, shower bright diamonds as a

Ah, the poor princess, with that mouth of roses, thinks of butterfly and swallow, but supposes how easily with wings she would soar up under the bright ladders brought down from the sunlit day. With lillies she would meet the fresh songs of May, and be one with the wind in the ocean's thunder.

Listless in the palace spins the spinning wheel; in the magical falcon and jester no appeal. The swans are one in the lake's azure swoon. From the west comes the dahlias for the first in court, from the sad jasmines, south roses of thought, from the waterlillies, weeping from noon.

Her blue eyes see nothing but sad misrule: into gold she is set and beset by tulle. Days are poured out from a heavy flagon, haughtily they watch now over palace floors; silent with the halberds are a hundred moors, sleepless the greyhound, and a colossal dragon.

Be patient, my princess: the horse has wings, for you he is coming, the fairy godmother sings. With a sword in the belt he has a hawk above, and a kiss to ignite you, to vanquish death: never has he seen you, but joyous the breath from the prince who awakes you: you will be his love.

Spanish Text

The princess is sad . what will the princess have? The sighs escape from his strawberry mouth, and he has lost his laugh, he has lost his color.
The princess is pale in her golden chair,
is mute the keypad of her sonorous key;
and in a glass fades a flower fades.

March 2012 - Restrepo Ortega | Documentaryist
It's about time one that helps people, and simply bombards us with trite, over-done images day in and day out. It's amazing to me that the Kony 2012 project has received so much world-wide attention in such a short time.

The garden houses the triumph of the peacocks.
Palanchina, the owner says banal things, And dressed in red, pirouettes the jester. The princess does not laugh, the princess does not feel; The princess pursues the eastern sky The dragonfly is vague with a vague illusion.

Think perhaps the prince of Golconda or China, or in which he has stopped his Argentine carriage to see from his eyes the sweetness of light? Or in the king of the Isles of the fragrant Rose, or in which he is sovereign of the clear diamonds or proud owner of the pearls of Ormuz?

Ay! The princess of the rose mouth wants to be swallow, wants to be butterfly have light wings, under the sky fly, go to the sun by the light scale of lightning, Greet the lilies with the May verses, or get lost in the wind on the thunder of the sea.

No longer wants the palace, nor the silver wheel, nor the hawk enchanted, nor the scarlet jester, nor the swans unanimous in the lake of azure. And the flowers are by the flower of the court; the jasmines of the East, the Nelumbos of the North, the West the dahlias and the roses of the South.

Poor princess with blue eyes! She is imprisoned in her golds, she is bound in her tulle, in the marble cage of the royal palace, the superb palace guarded by the guards, who guard a hundred blacks with their hundred halberds, a hare that does not sleep and a colossal dragon. >

"Shut up, shut up, princess!" - says the fairy godmother -, horse with wings, this way is on its way, the sword belt and the hawk in the hand, the happy knight who adores you without seeing you, and who comes from far, victor the Death, to turn you on the lips with their kiss of love!

From Profane poetry (1896) by Rubén Darío