I Must Tell You, O Gentle Enchantress
I must tell you, O gentle enchantress,
of the many beauties that youth bestows upon you.
Your beauty I shall paint,
where childhood blends with maturity.
When you stir the air with your wide-flowing hem,
you appear like a ship setting out to sea,
laden with sails, gliding forth
with a soft, lazy, graceful rhythm.
Upon your broad neck, on your rounded shoulders,
your head parades with unheard-of grace.
With a calm and triumphant face,
you walk your path, O majestic child.
I must tell you, O gentle enchantress,
of the many beauties that youth bestows upon you.
Your beauty I shall paint,
where the child unites with the grown woman.
That breast which leads and pushes forth the silk,
your triumphant bosom is a splendid shelf,
whose airy, radiant lids
draw in glimmers like shining armor.
Provocative armor, adorned with rosy tips!
A shelf of sweet secrets, full of all things good:
essences, perfumes, and liqueurs
that drive minds and hearts into delirium.
When you stir the air with your wide-flowing hem,
you appear like a ship setting out to sea,
laden with sails, gliding forth
with a soft, lazy, graceful rhythm.
And your noble legs beneath the billowing skirts
disturb and awaken intense desires,
like two enchantresses brewing
a dark potion in a deep vessel.
And your arms, like premature Heracles,
strive to outshine gleaming boas,
made to seize with strength,
as if to press your lover into your heart.
Upon your broad neck, on your rounded shoulders,
your head parades with unheard-of grace.
With a calm and triumphant face,
you walk your path, O majestic child.
