Mi Verso Es Como Un Puñal

My verse is like a dagger
That from the hilt, blooms a flower.
My verse is a fountain
That gives a water of coral.

My verse is of a light green
And of a fiery crimson.
My verse is a wounded deer
That seeks refuge in the mountain.

Sorrows! Who dares to say
That I have sorrows? then,
After the lightning, and the fire,
I will have time to suffer.

I know of a profound sorrow
Among the nameless sorrows:
The slavery of men
Is the great sorrow of the world!

There are mountains, and we must climb
The high mountains: then
We will see, soul, who is
Who has put you to die!