To Aurelia

Mercedes Matamoros
1851 – 1906


They say in the valley one day,
a sweet, innocent lily,
full, proud, happy,
shone in the sunlight.
“Could there be another, tell me true,
so white and pure as I?”
And she died of envy,
howling with madness,
when she met Aurelia,
who was whiter, more pure.

Translation by Liz Henry

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