Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer’s “Weary of the dance” (Rhyme XVIII)

   Weary of the dance,
glowing in color, short of
   leaning on my arm,
she stopped at one end of the
   Between the faint chiffon
lifted by her throbbing breasts,
   a flower swayed
in sweet, rhythmic motion.
   Like a pearl’s cradle
rocked by the sea and touched by the breeze,
   perhaps it slept there—
in the breath of her lips, half-parted.
   Oh —I wondered— who
would let this time slip away!
Oh, if the flowers sleep,
   how sweet is their dream!
Original Spanish
   Fatigada del baile,
encendido el color, breve el
   apoyada en my brazo,
del salón se detuvo en un
   Entre la leve gasa
que levantaba el palpitante
   una flor se mecía
en compasado y dulce
   Como en cuna de nácar
que empuja el mar y que
acaricia el céfiro,
   tal vez allí dormía
al soplo de sus labios
quién así —pensaba—
dejar pudiera deslizarse el
si las flores duermen,
   qué dulcísimo sueño!

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