Juana Inés de la Cruz (November 12 1651 – April 17 1695)
En que da moral censura a una rosa, 
y en ella a sus semejantes.
Rosa divina que en gentil cultura
eres, con tu fragante sutileza,
magisterio purpúreo en la belleza,
enseñanza nevada a la hermosura;
amago de la humana arquitectura,
ejemplo de la vana gentileza,
en cuyo sér unió naturaleza
la cuna alegre y triste sepultura:
¡ cuán altiva en tu pompa, presumida,
soberbia, el riesgo de morir desdeñas,
y luego desmayada y encogida
de tu caduco sér das mustias señas,
con que con docta muerte y necia vida,
viviendo engañas y muriendo enseñas!
Juana Inés de la Cruz.
In which she gives a rose a moral censure, 
and through her, to those she resembles.
Divine rose, in your gracious and tender blossom,
You are with your most fragrant subtleties,
Bestower of enroyalled instructions on beauty
Pure as the snow, you teach of loveliness.
Likeness of human form and structure,
Exemplar of all the vain gentility
Wherein nature is to be found uniting
Both the happy cradle and the lamented grave.
What loftiness there is in your presumption!
And prideful scorn at the mere hint of death’s suggestion.
Yet no sooner than you shrink back in consternation
Of that incipient state, with fainting and withered innuendo,
Of your erudite death and fatuous life, than you signal
You lived deceiving, but in your death enlighten!
Translation Dia Tsung.
Torquato Tasso (March 11 1544 – April 25 1595)
Quel labbro, che le rose han colorito,
Molle si sporge e tumidetto in fuore,
Spinto per arte, mi cred’io, d’Amore,
A fare a i baci insidioso invito.
Amanti, alcun non sia cotanto ardito
Ch’osi appressarsi, ove tra fiore e fiore
S’asconde un angue ad attoscarvi il core,
E ‘l fiero intento io veggio, e ve l’addito.
Io, ch’ altre volte fui nelle amorose
Insidie colto, or ben lo riconosco,
E le discopro, o giovinetti, a voi;
Quasi pomi di Tantalo, le rose
Fansi all’incontro, e s’allontanan poi;
Sol resta Amor che spira fiamma e tosco.
Torquato Tasso
These lips the roses have coloured,
Thrust out in swollen pout
Artfully polished, I do believe, by Love himself
To make insidious invitation to a kiss.
Lovers who dare approach, don’t be so bold –
There betwixt flower and flower, I see
Conceals itself a serpent, to sting the heart
And its audacious cruel intent points me
Towards another time, now passed when I in love
Encountered that cultured trap, I so well recognise,
And so to you too young folk, I point it out
As being as it were the apples of Tantalus
Fanning the flame at first sight, but further on,
All that remains of love expires in a conflagration.
Translation Dia Tsung.
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