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To a lady that left
revolt one morning

Beautiful scruffiness, in who trusts
As much as later it burns and it falls in love,
Which is accustomed to dawn upset dawn,
To kill at noon of sun.

Natural Solimán that distrusts
The splendor with which the skies gild;
Leave the arquilla, you don't play yourselves, Mrs.,
Play you of ivory, beautiful throat.

For the night you are better crazy;
That non anocheceréis so aliñosa
As today scruffy amanecéis.