And thy innocence-ah!
Thy innocence, querida, is like a sheet of eternal rain,
and piece of childish art whom my soul adores.
But thy hair! Ah, that tangled black mass of hair-
warm and tidy just like the cloak thou wear-
pure and flirtatious like a young teddy bear.
Meanwhile thy cheeks-oh, thy pink cheeks,
ripe and playful like the forbidden fruit,
poisonous like the Eolian lute,
and as dangerous as a romantic flute.