By Enrique Diez-Canedo, Translated by John Hollander

They triumph, in your body, all the sins:

Your red lips are the blossoms of lying,

A sink of pride are your two almond eyes,

Your rasping utterance torrents of rage,

Pincers of gluttony are your white teeth,

Your breasts are soft pillows of lassitude,

And in your nubile belly and firm flanks

The snake of lechery raises its head.

The stigmata of the Sabbath are not imprinted

In the virgin face you allure with, and deceive;

But your tongue knows well satanic kisses,

And it is a goatish love burns through your heart.

You go to Witches’ Sabbath where a monstrous

Crowd clamors and gambols. You alone

Are present at it—into your body the lust

Of the obscene mob there plunges its darts.

And when day arrives, you become a cat

With green eyes, white skin, and long fingernails;

Whoever tries to get near your mystery,

You flatter him at first, and then you scratch.