YOUR EYES, MOORISH SLAVES

In your coldness were ensconced
The great Moorish slaves;
Dark and shining in golds
From a distance they guarded me.

And, devouring, they dreamt
In me, I know not what treasures…
Behind the crystal of tears
They guarded and threatened.

They beat angelic wings,
They pounded satanic hands,
Their two strange screens;

And when I looked upon them coquettishly,
Their fiery halberds
Pierced my entrails.