Classic Poem

The flowers of the rosemary,
maiden Isabel,
today they are blue flowers,
tomorrow they will be honey.

You are jealous, maiden,
you are jealous of one who is
lucky, because you seek him,
blind, because he does not see you,
ungrateful, because he angers you
and presumptuous, because
he does not excuse himself today
for what he did yesterday.
Let your hopes wipe away
the tears you shed for him;
for jealousies between those
who loved each other well,
today they are blue flowers,
tomorrow they will be honey.
Like a dawn of yourself,
when at your pleasure
you begin to brighten the day,
your own pleasure eclipses you;
let your eyes become serene,
and shed no more pearls,
for what suits the Dawn
is not becoming to the Sun.
Scatter, as if a mist,
all that you cannot see;
for suspicions in lovers,
and quarrels afterwards,
today they are blue flowers,
tomorrow they will be honey