Winter song

The winds to me obedient
I keep: all cold and tempest shocks
Follow me and are my flocks;
Scourge of every element

Am I, master of the moon;
Frost and ice obey my call
That am the high admiral
Of ships with which the sea is strewn.

Though my look your mind estranges
As if I a ruffian were,
I can fill with black the air
And with white the mountain-ranges.

All the pleasant shade I strip
From beneath the chestnut-trees,
And the hermits, as I please,
To their lairs like foxes skip,

To decay I turn the pears,
And the fresh, green woods destroy;
The strawberry-plants grow red with joy
And the roses fill with tears.

Sound of bells aloud, afar,
Through the countryside I ring;
To nightingales I silence bring,
Frogs and crickets silent are.

Windows closed at my breath
And doors Be just and unjust keep,
And I make the orchards weep
In sorrow for the gardens' death.

Yellow and thin the vines with age
And rivers of the streams I make,
Of each thresbing-floor a lake,
A cistern of each hermitage.

(…)

Soy portero de los vientos
pastor de las tempestades
ayo de las frialdades
ira de los elementos.

Maestresala de la luna
de los hielos corretor
y soy capitán mayor
de la marina fortuna.

Aunque veáis mi figura
hecha un salvaje bruto
yo cubro el aire de luto
y las sierras de blancura.

Quito las sombras graciosas
debaxo de los castaños
y hago a los ermitaños
encovar como raposas.

Hago mustios los perales
los bosques frescos medoños
y alegres los madroños
y llorosos los rosales.

Hago sonar las campanas
muy lexos con mis primores
y callar los ruiseñores
y los grillos y las ranas.

Hago a buenos y a roínes
cerrar ventanas y puertas
y hago llorar las huertas
la muerte de los jardines.

Las viñas hago marchitas
y los arroyos riveras
hago lagunas las eras
y cisternas las ermitas.

(…)

Woman's regret and longing kill
In her both her heart and soul,
Since no moment may console
Her sorrow, or her torture still.

Sweet things shalt thou say and hear
Still, and other beauty see
If thou goest not from me;
But I, when thou art not near,
Must live in sad obscurity.

A suidade na molher
mata o coração e alma
porque momento nam acalma
a tormenta que tever.

Que tu se te vás de mi
verás outras fermosuras
falas e ouves doçuras
mas eu nam vejo sem ti
senam cousas muito escuras.