Cuando veo en las crónicas pasadas
Descritas las personas admirables
Que prestaron belleza a antiguas rimas,
Damas muertas y apuestos caballeros
Que en todo eran blasón de la belleza,
Manos y pies, ojos, frente y labios,
Admito que esa pluma habría expresado
Con toda maestría aun tus virtudes.
Sus elogios son meras profecías
Que anticipan la época presente,
Mas con visión de augur te contemplaban,
Sin poder alabar tu gracia toda.
Y aún hoy, que deleitas a los ojos,
Las lenguas amordaza tu hermosura.

When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme,
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights,
Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have expressed
Even such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all you prefiguring;
And for they looked but with divining eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
For we, which now behold these present days,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.