On The Poem by Gertrudis Gomez de Avellaneda

On the 'Betis'
Swift I float
As my boat
Lightly goes,
And the breeze
Hovering now
On my brow
Faintly blows.

Oarsman, row,
Row afar;
Evening star
Will appear,
There to west
Climbing proud
In its cloud
Sapphire clear.

Fades the day;
Eventide's
Sun now glides
From on high,
In its trail
Gleams the low
Afterglow
Of the crimson sky.

It would hide
Finding rest
On the breast
Of the sea;
From the sky
Fall the slow
Tears that flow
Endlessly.

Flowers wet
With the dew
Fragrance strew
Roundabout,
Loved by winds
Blowing after
April laughter
Pealing out.

And the linnet
Feathered gay
Seeks the way
To its nest;
Where pomegranate
Branches swing
Slumbering,
Rocked to rest.

Far from the shore
I can see
Easily
Seville there,
Multi-crowned
By its towers;
Orange flowers
Scent the air.

Darkened scene
Now is filled
With light spilled
Crepuscular
By the errand
Boy of night
From his bright
Evening star.

Oh, wait not
Till the last
Light has passed,
Dying too!
In heaven's name,
Oarsman, row,
Faster go,
I beg of you!