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28 views5 pagesPoetry by Sor Juana Inés de La Cruz
The document features poetry by Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, exploring themes of judgment, beauty, love, and the relationship between the divine and the earthly. In 'The Judgment of the Just,' the poet critiques unjust judgment and its consequences, while 'To a Rose' reflects on the transient nature of beauty and life. Other poems express deep emotional sentiments regarding love, silence, and the birth of Christ, emphasizing the interconnectedness of existence and the divine.
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0% found this document useful (0 votes)
28 views5 pagesPoetry by Sor Juana Inés de La Cruz
The document features poetry by Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, exploring themes of judgment, beauty, love, and the relationship between the divine and the earthly. In 'The Judgment of the Just,' the poet critiques unjust judgment and its consequences, while 'To a Rose' reflects on the transient nature of beauty and life. Other poems express deep emotional sentiments regarding love, silence, and the birth of Christ, emphasizing the interconnectedness of existence and the divine.
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Poetry by Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz
The Judgment of the Just
The company Pilate that judges others
Sentence, and it is yours. Oh strong case!
Who will believe that signing someone else's death
does the same judge condemn himself in it?
The ambition of himself so alienates him.
That with vile blind fear does not notice
What ill-fated luck weighs upon him,
Whoever judges the Just with an unjust sentence.
Judges of the world, stay your hand,
Do not sign yet, see if there are any acts of violence
Those that can move you with inhuman hatred;
Examine the consciences first,
Look, do not make the Judge just and sovereign.
That you sign your sentences in the foreign one
To a Rose
Divine rose, that in gentle culture
You are with your fragrant subtlety
Purple mastery in beauty,
Snowy teaching to beauty.
Glimpse of human architecture,
Example of vain kindness,
In which being nature united
The joyful cradle and sad grave.
How proud in your pomp, presumptuous
pride, the risk of dying you disdain,
and then fainted and curled up.
From your decaying being, the wilted signs!
With learned death and foolish life,
Living you deceive and dying you teach.
Excusing oneself from a Silence...
I want to ask you, ma'am,
From my silence, forgiveness,
If what has been attention,
It makes him seem rude.
And you won't be able to blame me
If up to here my conduct,
For being concerned about wanting
He has forgotten to explain.
That in my loving passion
It was neither neglect nor diminishment
Remove the use of the language
For giving it to the heart.
He wouldn't even let me explain,
That like my passion
Here in the soul I spoke to you
And in this remarkable idea
He lived happily;
Because in my hand I had
Pretending to be favorable.
With such a whimsical trace
My vain hope lived
Well, I can make you human.
Conceiving you as divine.
Oh, how crazy I came to see myself
in your blissful loves,
that even your favors are feigned
They could drive me crazy!
Oh, how crazy I came to see myself
in your happy loves,
that even your favors are feigned
they could drive me insane!
Oh, how in your beautiful Sun
my burning affection ignited,
for indulging in the lucid,
forgot the dangerous!
Excuse me, if I may be so bold.
It was daring to your pure ardor;
That there is no safe Sacred
Of thoughts' faults.
This way he deceived.
My crazy hope,
And inside me I had
All the good that I wished.
But your serious precept
Break my silent silence;
That he could only be
From my respect, the key.
And although loving your beauty
It is an offense without excuse,
Blame yourselves
First, than the lukewarmness.
Do not want, therefore, strict,
That having already been declared,
Be truly unfortunate
Who was happily mocked.
If you blame my disobedience,
Blame your license too;
That if my obedience is bad,
Your mandate was not fair.
And if my attempt is guilty,
It will be my precise affection;
Because loving you is a crime
That I never regret.
This found in my affections,
And more, I don't know how to explain;
But you, of what I kept silent,
You will infer what I silence.
Birth of Christ
Of the most fragrant rose
The most beautiful bee was born,
To whom the clean dew
Holy God, pure matter.
It is born, and hardly has it been born,
When in the same currency,
What he received in pearls
Start paying in pearls.
That the dawn cries, is not much
What is customary in her beauty;
But who is there that does not admire?
What tears does the sun shed?
If it is to support the rose,
It is a idle diligence,
Well, it's not necessary, Rocío.
After the bee is born.
And even more so at the closing
Of her virginal purity
He could not have been a precedent,
There can be no one who succeeds,
What is the purpose of crying,
What sweetly waters?
Who can no longer bear fruit
What does it matter that it is sterile?
But oh, that the bee has
Such intimate dependency
Always with the rose, that
His life depends on her;
Well, by giving pure nectar,
That their fragrances give birth,
Not only does she conceive him before
But then he feeds him.
Son and mother, in such divine
Wandering skills,
None remains a debtor,
And both remain obligated.
The bee pays for the dew
That the rose gives birth to,
And she returns it to him with
The same that gives birth to it.
Helping one another
With mutual correspondence,
The bee to the fertile flower,
And she sustains the bee.
Well, yes, that’s why it’s the crying,
Jesus cried, good hour,
What is being sold in the dew
He will charge later in nectar.
