At First She Came To Me Pure

At first she came to me pure,
dressed only in her innocence;
and my love was like a child's

Then she began putting on
clothes she picked up somewhere;
and I hated her, without knowing it.

She gradually became a queen,
her jewelry was blinding . . .
What bitterness and rage!

. . . She started going back toward nakedness.
And I smiled.

Soon she took off the cloth
and was entirely naked . . .
Naked poetry, always mine,
that I have loved my whole life!


~Juan Ramón Jiménez (Translated by Robert Bly. Roots & Wings: Poetry from Spain 1900-1975. Hardie St. Martin, Editor. Harper & Row. 1976. p.61)