Casimiro de Abreu

Moreninha, Moreninha,
You are the queen from the country,
You are my lady;
You kill everyone you love,
Faceira, selling the flowers
You harvest in your garden.

When you pass the village
The people say with their mouths full:
– “There is no more beautiful woman
“Ouch! See how beautiful it is
“With braids stuck in the ribbon,
“Co’as flores no samburá! –

You are sweet, you are innocent
Like the roll that happy
Fly and take off in the rosal;
Wrapped in simple galas,
In the voice, in the laughter, in the lines,
Morena – you have no rival!

Yesterday, you came from the mountain
And you stopped at the foot of the fountain
In the cool shade of the tilde;
Watering the flowers, alone,
You don’t even know, Moreninha,
How kind I thought you were!

Then I followed you quietly
Like the hungry bird
It follows the juriti;
But you were just kidding,
Through the bouncing stones,
That I felt sorry for you!

Then he said: – Moreninha,
If one day you are mine,
What love, what love you will not have!
I give you rose nights
Singing beautiful songs
At the sound of my ultimate suits.

Brunette, my mermaid,
You are the rose of the village,
There is no more beautiful woman;
Nobody t’equa or t’imita
With braids stuck in the ribbon,
With the flowers in the samburá!

You are the goddess of the square,
And every man who passes by
He just saw you … stopped!
Then go on your way
But go quiet and alone
Because your soul stayed!

You are beautiful, Moreninha,
Sitting on your stool
Surrounded by all of us;
Joyful drumming the tambourine,
Like the bird in the hawthorn
You also release the voice:

– “Oh who buys me these flowers?
“They are beautiful as loves,
“There are not so beautiful;
“They were bathed in dew,
“They are flowers from my seraglio,
“I picked them up in my garden.” –

Brunette, my Brunette,
You are beautiful, but you have no pity
Who dies of passion!
– You sell simple flowers
And keep the beautiful flowers,
The roses of the heart ?!

Moreninha, Moreninha,
You are the beautiful queen,
But in love you are bad
– How beautiful you look
With braids stuck in the ribbon,
With the flowers in the samburá!

I said then: – “My loves,
“Let your flowers aim,
“Let perfumes feel!”
But in that sweet delight,
Instead of flowers, in the breast,
In the bosom I moved you!

Like cloud passed out
It dyes at dawn
To the sweet albor in the morning
So you stayed, dear,
The flushed face lit,
Red as a pomegranate!

You ran away, witch,
And certainly lighter
Any gazelle is not;
You were wearing a short skirt …
Bouncing myrtle bush
You showed, you showed your foot!

There! Brunette, ouch! my loves,
I want to buy you flowers,
But give me a kiss too;
That matter meadow roses
Without the funny smile
What does your mouth have? …

I just saw you, mermaid,
I called you – village rose –
There is no more beautiful.
– Jesus! How beautiful you were
With braids stuck in the ribbon,
With the flowers in the samburá!
Indaiassú – 1857.

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