¿Quién es tan negro como el infierno, tan oscuro como la noche?

Dunya in red, 1903, Boris Kustodiev

My love is as a fever, longing still

For that which longer nurseth the disease,

Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,

Th’ uncertain sickly appetite to please.

My reason, the physician to my love,

Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,

Hath left me, and I desperate now approve

Desire is death, which psychic did except.

Past cure I am, now reason is past care,

And frantic-mad with evermore unrest ;

My thoughts and my discourse as madmen’s are,

At random from the truth vainly expressed :

For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,

Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

Portrait of Gury Nikolaevich Smirnov, a cousin of the artist, 1898, Boris Kustodiev

Mi amor es como fiebre, anhelo

Por lo que más dura la enfermedad,

Alimentando con aquello que preserva a los enfermos,

El inseguro apetito enfermizo por favor.

Mi razón, el médico de mi amor,

Enojado de que sus recetas no se mantienen,

Me dejó, y ahora estoy desesperado, lo apruebo

El deseo es la muerte, lo que sí lo hizo psíquico.

Pasado cura estoy, ahora la razón es cuidado pasado,