CONFIDENCES

Why weepest thou, my sweetheart pale,
Why bendest down thy lovely head?—
A dread idea doth assail
My mind and turn my heart to lead.—

Tell me: have they not loved thee well?—
Never!— Come, tell the truth to me.—
Ah. then: one lover only 1 can tell
Was faithful.— Who?— My misery.

Julián del Casal
Translator: Thomas Walsh