THE SERENADE

by: José Asunción Silva (1865-1896)

HE street is deserted, the night is cold,

The moon glides veiled amid cloud-banks dun;

The lattice above is tightly closed,

And the notes ring clearly one by one

Under his fingers light and strong,

While the voice that sings tells tender things,

As the player strikes on his sweet guitar

The fragile strings.

 

The street is deserted, the night is cold,

A cloud has covered the moon from sight.

The lattice above is tightly closed,

And the notes are growing more soft and light.

Perhaps the sound of the serenade

Seeks the soul of the girl who loves and waits,

As the swallows seek eaves to build their nests

When they come in spring with their gentle mates.

 

The street is deserted, the night is cold,

The moon shines out from the clouds aloft;

The lattice above is opened now

And the notes are growing more low, more soft.

The singer with fingers light and strong

Clings to the ancient window's bar,

And a moan is breathed from the fragile strings

Of a sweet guitar.

--Translated by Alice Stone Blackwell

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