Poberza/Poverty

Poberza

No creas que soy pobre. Algo, algo me queda
Algo que Dios me brinda de su Escarcela Azul
tengo la luna, áurea moneda,
y de los astros la plateada luz.

No creas que soy pobre. En el cofre escarlata
de mi fiel corazón tengo muchos recuerdos,
mil ensueños de plata
y pedazos de oro de una roto ilusión.

No creas que soy pobre. Tengo muchas riquezas
Mío es el cielo, el aire, y las flores fragrantes
la mina de carbón de mis tristezas,
de la que brotan lágrimas: diamantes!

Poverty

You mustn’t think of me as poor, something, something is left to me,
Something that God offers to me out of his great Blue Vault.
I have the moon, a golden coin,
And from the stars, the silvered light.

You mustn’t think of me as poor.
Here in the scarlet coffer of my faithful heart
Are my sparkling memories, a thousand silver dreams
And pieces of gold from one broken illusion.

You mustn’t think of me as poor. I have countless riches;
Mine is the sky, the air, and the fragrant flowers
And from the coal mine of my sorrows
There springs a fountain of tears: diamonds!