Soy como un actor mediocre. El miedo me hace olvidar mi papel. Quizás mi fortaleza me debilita. Este miedo a mi arrogancia me hace torpe en la ceremonia y los rituales del amor. Entonces dejo que mis libros te digan lo que mi boca ha sido incapaz de expresar. Oh, aprender a leer lo que el silencio del amor ha escrito. Escuchar con los ojos es el verdadero arte del amor.



As an unperfect actor on the stage

Who with his fear is put besides his part,

Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,

Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart.

So I, for fear of trust, forget to say

The perfect ceremony of love’s rite,

And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay,

O’ercharged with burden of mine own love’s might.

O, let my books be then the eloquence

And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,

Who plead for love and look for recompense

More than that tongue that more hath more express’d.

O, learn to read what silent love hath writ:

To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit.


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