|The Immaculate Conception, by Bartolomé Esteban Murillo (1650)|
They ask me to sing to you, my Queen,
and to speak of the spells of your charm.
They forget that in my crib
I mouthed the words of your song.
Oh! They do not know that I carry your name within my name;
that your symbol is in my blood,
and that in the rhythm of my heartbeats
one can hear repeatedly: “Immaculate.”
For if I fight, you shield me with your mantle;
for if I dream, you push my sorrows away from me;
and if I fall you lift me up,
and if I suffer, you sweeten my woes.
For if raise my pupils to the sky,
the stars outline your crown;
and the sun weaves your tunic;
and the moon forms your halo.
To sing to you, sweet essence of my life!
Tell them to study the contours of my story,
and in its golden pages,
they will be able to find vestiges of your glory.
Well you know, my Lady, that in the depths
of my soul and of my life
you are enthroned alone above all my loves.
You must surely be Immaculate.
P. Prudencio Pérez
Source: Flechas y pelayos [Spanish Nationalist children’s magazine], issue 1. December 11, 1938.
Original poem in Castilian by P. Prudencio Pérez.
Translated into English by Jaime de Andrade.