Feliciano loves me, and I hate him; Lizardo hates me, and I do adore him; For him who does not want me, do I cry, And him who yearns for me, I not desire. To him who me disdains, my soul I offer, And him who is my victim, I disdain. Him I despise who would enrich my honor, And him who doth contemn me, I'd enrich. If with offence the first I have displeased, The other doth displease by me offended-- And thus I come to suffer every way; For both are but as torments to my feelings-- This one with asking that which I have not, And that in not having what I'd ask. THE ROSE. Celia beheld a rose that in the walk Flourished in pride of springtime loveliness, And whose bright hues of carmine or of red Bathed joyfully its delicate countenance-- And said: Enjoy without the fear of fate The fleeting course of thy luxuriant age, Since will not death be able on the morrow. To take from thee what thou to-day enjoyest; And though he come within a little while, Still grieve thou not to die so young and fair: Hear what experience may counsel thee-- That fortunate 'tis to die being beautiful, And not to see the woe of being old. THE DECEPTION. This that thou seest, a deception painted, Which of art's excellence makes display, With curious counterfeit of coloring, Is an insidious cheating of the sense. This, wherewithin has flattery pretended To excuse the grim deformity of age, And vanquishing the rigor hard of time To triumph o'er oblivion and decay; Is but the shallow artifice of care, Is as a fragile flower within the wind; It is a useless guard 'gainst destiny; It is a foolish and an erring toil; 'Tis labor imbecile, and, rightly scanned, Is death, is dust, is shadow, and is naught. These rude translations give but a poor idea of the poet's expression, but they allow the height and quality of her intellect to be understood. In one of her most thoughtful poems, the _Romance on the Vanity of Science_, she argues against self-seeking knowledge, and the perils to which genius exposes itself by too much seeking its own devices. This poem is so representative and remarkable that we must give it entire quotation: ROMANCE. Finjamos que soy feliz, Triste pensamiento un rato; Quizá podreis persuadirme, Aunque yo sé lo contrario. Feign we that I am happy, Sad thought, a little while, For, though 'twere but dissembling, Would thou couldst me beguile! Que, pues solo en la aprension Dicen que estriban los daños; Si os imaginais dichoso. No sereis tan desdichado. Yet since but in our terrors They say our miseries grow, If joy we can imagine, The less will seem our woe.