Lady, they are your beautiful eyes

lighthouses, that, of very far away, I stare, believer.

When I see you I stay on my knees...

Meanwhile, you look at me indifferent!

In Cuzco there was a temple adorned of gold,

where the sun was the idol of the people.

If you went there, the sun would be bored,

because you would be there — new idol.

Of your glance leaves a waterfall

of soft, pure and scintillant light.

What sea of light! In ideal shallop

my soul knows how there to be navigator.

Do you speak? Then, fevered, I listen

suave harmonies. Anxious,

I fear to come to be a dissolute one...

But your voice only comes where I rest!

Sometimes, close to you, I listen, crazy,

to pulsate the heart in your breast...

I listen to it distant; and, little by little,

it seems for mine - my narrow chest.

Lady, your chest is a Chapel,

where the little bell in feast is rung.

I know that there is rich tableware there.

I never went there. Do you fear I go to rob it?

I believe that you judge me perverse atheist,

unworthy of occupying such sanctuary,

because even being I believer, already converted,

I never saw nor I kissed that sacrarium...

If you stare me, believe me, some day,

I would be close some few steps,

(And how my fantasy is sweet!)

close to the blue sky, of the open sky.

You have my cult and I want your faith.

Adore the light of stars without faintings.

I am Sabaean. You shine in the immense height —

and I here from bellow I adore your rays.