To Don Francisco de Quevedo
(attributed to Góngora)
A poet, like a tripper all got up
was got up high in pilgrim's spirits too,
so much so that with him an able barber
could sterilize the scourge's bloodiest wound.
His holiest of holy pilgrim's cloak,
since it was his, was leather, lushly done,
his walking-stick the rudder of a lurching
ship, which from a salty lighthouse comes
to Wineland, and not making water sails.
Now this, without an ulcer, limping saint
who of a scallop shell's so rightly vain —
that dear insignia, set in gold, rosé —
into St. Swallow strides, his goal attained:
for here walk both the hardy and the lame.
Translated by Alix Ingber
Atribuído a Góngora
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