By Francisco Gomez de Quevedo y Villegas (1580-1645)
When you shake loose your hair from all controlling,
Such thirst of beauty quickens my desire
Over its surge in red tornados rolling
My heart goes surfing on the waves of fire
Leander, who for love the tempest dares,
It lets a sea of flames its life consume:
Icarus, from a sun whose rays are hairs,
Ignites its wings and glories in its doom.
Charring its hopes (whose deaths I mourn) it strives
Out of their ash to fan new phoenix-lives
That, dying of delight, new hopes embolden.
Miser, yet poor, the crime and fate it measures
Of Midas, starved and mocked with stacks of treasures,
Or Tantalus, with streams that shone as golden.