bed of green leaves

Why, Jatir, do you dally, and move your feet
so much at the expense of my love’s voice?
Already the night breeze, rustling the leaves,
murmurs in the crests of the woods.

Beneath the crown of the lofty mango tree,
I carefully covered our pleasant bed
with a tender carpet of soft leaves,
where the pale moonlight plays amidst flowers.

A short while ago the flower of the tamarind opened –
now the jasmine gives a sweeter aroma!
Like a prayer of love, like these prayers,
the wood breathes in the silence of the night.

The moon shines in the sky, stars shine,
perfumes fly with the breeze,
in whose magic flow is breathed
a gasp of love, better than life!

The flower which blooms at dawn
lives for one course of the sun alone, no more.
I am that flower, still awaiting
a sweet ray of sun that gives me life.

Be it through valleys or hills,
on water or land, wherever you may go,
whether day or night, my thoughts go after you;
I have never had another love: you are mine, I am yours!

My eyes have never seen other eyes,
my lips have never felt other lips,
and no hands but yours, Jatir, have pressed
my feather skirt about my waist.

The flower of the tamarind lies half-open,
now the jasmine gives a sweeter aroma;
and my heart, too, like these flowers,
breathes a finer perfume near to the night!

You are not listening to me, Jatir! Nor do you respond
even too late to my love’s voice, calling you in vain!
Tupã! The sun is breaking through! May the morning
breeze brush the leaves from the useless bed!

Antônio Gonçalves Dias

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