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Have you seen, in Barcelona,
An Andalusian with sun-browned breast?
Pale as a beautiful autumn evening!
She is my mistress, my lioness!
The marquesa of Amaëgui!
I have written many songs for her,
I have fought very often.
Very often I have stood sentinel,
To see the corner of her eye,
When her curtain trembled in the wind.
She is mine, I alone in the world.
Her great black eyebrows are mine,
Her supple body and her rounded leg,
Her hair that floods over her,
Longer than a king’s cloak!
Mine is her beautiful neck that leans
When she sleeps in her boudoir,
And her basquina on her hip,
Her arm in her white mitten,
Her foot in her black boot!
True God! When her eye sparkles
Under the fringe of her network veils,
Just to touch her mantilla,
By all the saints of Castile,
One would have one’s bones broken.
How superb she is in her disorder,
When she falls, breasts bare,
When one sees her, open-mouthed, writhe
In a kiss of rage, and bite
While crying out unknown words!
And how mad she is in her joy,
When she sings in the morning,
When pulling on her silk stocking,
She makes, on her yielding flank,
Her satin corset creak!
Come, my page, to ambushes!
Come! the beautiful summer night!
I want tonight serenades
To drive the alcades mad
From Toulouse to the Guadalete.
Alfred De Musset
Translation generated by Poésies 123 with assistance from the deepseek-chat artificial-intelligence model.
Text published on Poésies 123: https://www.poesies123.com/en/poem-the-andalusian-alfred-de-musset/