My soul tremulous and lonely
At nightfall will grow forlorn:
There’s a show, let us go see
The Spanish dancer perform.
It is well they’ve taken down
The flag that stood at the entrance;
For I don’t think I could go hence
If that banner were still flown.
The Spanish dancer enters then,
Looking so proud and so pale:
“From Galicia does she hail?”
No, they are wrong: she’s from heaven.
She wears the matador’s tricorne
And also his crimson cape.
A gillyflower to drape
And with a great hat adorn!
On passing her eyebrows show,
Eyebrows of a traitorous Moor:
And the Moor’s proud look she wore,
And her ear was white as snow.
The music starts, the lights dim,
In shawl and gown, there advances
The Virgin of the Assumption
Dancing Andalucian dances.
Alza, retando, la frente;
Crúzase al hombro la manta:
En arco el brazo levanta;
Mueve despacio el pie ardiente.
Repica con los tacones
El tablado zalamera,
Como si la tabla fuera
Tablado te corazones.
Y va el convite creciendo
En las llamas de los ojos,
Y el manto de flecos rojos
Se va en el aire meciendo.
Súbito, de un salto arranca;
Húrtase, se quiebra, gira:
Abre en dos la cachemira,
Ofrece la bata blanca.
El cuerpo cede y ondea;
La bata abierta provoca,
Es una rosa la boca;
Lentamente taconea.
Recoge, de un débil giro,
El manto de flecos rojos:
Se va, cerrando los ojos,
Se va, como en un suspiro…
Baila muy bien la española,
Es blanco y rojo el mantón:
¡Vuelve, fosca, a su rincón
El alma trémula y sola!
Her head raised in challenge, she
The cape o’er her shoulders will spread:
With her arched arms framing her head,
She taps her foot ardently.
Her studied taps tear the batten,
As if each heel were a blade,
And the stage had been inlaid
With the broken hearts of men.
The festive feeling is burning
In the fire of her eyes,
The red-speckled shawl now flies
In the air as she is turning.
With a sudden leap she starts,
Rebounds, then turns, and bows down:
Wide her cashmere shawl she parts
To offer us her white gown.
All her body yields and sways;
Her open mouth is enticing;
A rose is her mouth: while dancing
She’s tapping her heels always.
Then turns she feebly to wind
The long and red-speckled shawl:
And shutting her eyes to all,
In a sigh leaves all behind.
The Spanish dancer has done well;
Red and white was her long shawl:
The tremulous, lonely soul
Withdraws again to its cell!