El Príncipe Enano

For a dwarf prince
This party is made.
He has blonde locks,
Soft locks.
Over the white shoulder,
Long they hang.
His two eyes seem
Black stars.
They fly, shine, throb,
Flash!
He is a crown to me,
Pillow, spur.
My hand, which tames
Horses and hyenas like this,
Goes, gentle and obedient,
Where he leads it.
If he frowns, I fear;
If he complains to me,
Like a woman, my face
Turns to snow.
His blood, then,
Animates my weak veins.
With his joy, my blood
Swells or dries up!
For a dwarf prince
This party is made.

Come, my knight,
Through this path!
Enter, my tyrant,
Through this cave!
Such is it, when to my eyes
His image arrives,
As if in a dark cave
A pale star,
With opaline gleams
Dressed entirely.
At his passing, the shadow
Shows hues,
Like the sun that strikes
The dark clouds.
Behold me now, armed,
In the fight!
The dwarf prince wants
Me to return to battle.
He is a crown to me,
Pillow, spur!
Like the sun, breaking
The dark clouds,
In bands of colors
The shadow changes,
He, upon touching it, embroiders
In the thick wave,
My battle band
Red and violet.
What does my master want,
That I return to life?
Come, my knight,
Through this path!
Enter, my tyrant,
Through this cave!
Let me offer
Him my life!
For a dwarf prince
This party is made.