Also know as Juana Inés de la Cruz, preliminary biographical information here.
Selected Poems
Caprice
An Electronic Edition
Juana de Asbaje 1651-1695
Original Source: Hispanic Anthology: Poems Translated from the Spanish by English and North American Poets. Ed. Thomas Walsh. New York: G. P. Putnam’s Son, 1920
Copyright 2003. This text is freely available provided the text is distributed with the header information provided.
Caprice Who thankless flees me, I with love pursue, 1.
Who loving follows me, I thankless flee;
To him who spurns my love I bend the knee,
His love who seeks me, cold I bid him rue;
I find as diamond him I yearning woo, 5.
Myself a diamond when he yearns for me;
Who slays my love I would victorious see,
While slaying him who wills me blisses true.
To favor this one is to lose desire,
To crave that one, my virgin pride to tame; 10.
On either hand I face a prospect dire,
Whatever path I tread, the goal the same:
To be adored by him of whom I tire,
Or else by him who scorns me brought to shame. Trans. Peter H. Goldsmith
Lost Love
An Electronic Edition
Juana de Asbaje 1651-1695
Original Source: Hispanic Anthology: Poems Translated from the Spanish by English and North American Poets. Ed. Thomas Walsh. New York: G. P. Putnam’s Son, 1920
Copyright 2003. This text is freely available provided the text is distributed with the header information provided.
The Lost Love Ah! when shall I, my glory,1.
Discern thy light in radiance shining,
Thy presence illusory,
To bring me sweet release from grief and pining?
When shall I see thine eyes, enchanting rapture,
And yield thee mine, as tender capture? When will thy voice awaken1.
Mine ears with thrilling accents from their sadness,
And I, enthralled, o’ertaken3.
By the floods of its ineffable gladness,
Be swept away in ecstasy, and after
The marvel wanes, hasten to thee with laughter? When will thy light effulgent1.
Reclothe with roseate glamour all my being?
And when shall I, indulgent,
The anguish of my sighs exhaled and fleeing,
No more bemoan the pangs of my past sorrow?
When thou shalt come, and glorify the morrow!
Come then, my soul’s dear treasure, 1.
Since fast through weariness my life is fading,
And absence without measure,
Come then, lest, heeding not my soft persuading,
Thou wound my love; e’en yet, despite mine anger, 5.
With tears of hope I will refresh my languor!
Trans. Peter H. Goldsmith
To her Portrait
An Electronic Edition
Juana de Asbaje 1651-1695
Original Source: Hispanic Anthology: Poems Translated from the Spanish by English and North American Poets. Ed. Thomas Walsh. New York: G. P. Putnam’s Son, 1920
Copyright 2003. This text is freely available provided the text is distributed with the header information provided.
To Her Portrait
This that you see, the false presentment planned1.
With finest art and all the colored shows
And reasonings of shade, doth but disclose3.
The poor deceits by earthly senses fanned!
Here where in constant flattery expand
Excuses for the stains that old age knows,
Pretexts against the years’ advancing snows,
The footprints of old seasons to withstand;8.
‘Tis but vain artifice of scheming minds;1.
‘Tis but a flower fading on the winds;
‘Tis but a useless protest against Fate;3.
‘Tis but stupidity without a thought,
A lifeless shadow, if we meditate;
‘Tis death, tis dust, tis shadow, yea, ’tis nought.
(trans. Roderick Gill)
Arraignment of Men
An Electronic Edition
Juana de Asbaje 1651-1695
Original Source: Hispanic Anthology: Poems Translated from the Spanish by English and North American Poets. Ed. Thomas Walsh. New York: G. P. Putnam’s Son, 1920
Copyright 2003. This text is freely available provided the text is distributed with the header information provided.
Arraignment of the Men Males perverse, schooled to condemn
Women by your witless laws,
Though forsooth you are prime cause
Of that which you blame in them: If with unexampled care
You solicit their disdain,
Will your fair words ease their pain,
When you ruthless set the snare? Their resistance you impugn,
Then maintain with gravity
That it was mere levity
Made you dare to importune.
What more elevating sight
Than of man with logic crass,
Who with hot breath fogs the glass,
Then laments it is not bright!
Scorn and favor, favor, scorn,
What you will, result the same,
Treat you ill, and earn your blame,
Love you well, be left forlorn.
Scant regard will she possess
Who with caution wends her way,—
Is held thankless for her “nay,”
And as wanton for her “yes.”
What must be the rare caprice
Of the quarry you engage:
If she flees, she wakes your rage,
If she yields, her charms surcease.
Who shall bear the heavier blame,
When remorse the twain enthralls,
She, who for the asking, falls,
He who, asking, brings to shame?
Whose the guilt, where to begin,
Though both yield to passion’s sway,
She who weakly sins for pay,
He who, strong, yet pays for Sin?
Then why stare ye, if we prove
That the guilt lies at your gate?
Either love those you create,
Or create those you can love.
To solicitation truce,—
Then, sire, with some show of right
You may mock the hapless plight
Or the creatures of your use!
—Peter H. Goldsmith (translator)
Stay shade of my shy treasure
An Electronic Edition
Juana de Asbaje 1651-1695
Original Source: “Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz, “Sonnet” in Some Spanish-American Poets. Ed. Isaac Goldberg; trans. Alice Stone Blackwell. Philadelphia: Univ. of Pennsylvania Press, 1937.
Copyright 2002. This text is freely available provided the text is distributed with the header information provided.
STAY, shade of my shy treasure! STAY, shade of my shy treasure! Oh, remain, 1.
Thou image of the charmer I love best
Fair dream, for which I die with joyful breast. 3.
Illusion sweet, for which I live in pain! Thy winning graces all my heart enchain; 5.
It follows as the steel the magnet’s test;
But wherefore gain my love and make me blest 7.
If thou must mock me, fading soon again? Yet canst thou never boast, with fullest pride, 9.
Triumphant o’er me is thy tyranny;
For though thou from the Glose embrace dost glide 11.
That held thy visionary form to me,
No matter! In my arms thou wilt not bide,
But fancy builds a prison still for thee!
trans. Alice Stone Blackwell
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