The Girl of Guatemala, the girl that died of love.

This is a lovely history of love, that story was written by José Martí when he arrived to Guatemala. Months later he wrote this poem saying his tragic history of love.

At a wing’s shade, I want to tell
This story, like a flower:
The girl from Guatemala,
The girl that died of love.

The flowers were lilies,
And mignonette ornaments
And jasmine: we buried her
In a silk casket.

She gave to the forgetful
A perfumed sachet:
He came back, came back married: She died of love.

She was carried in a procession
By bishops and ambassadors:
Behind were the town’s people in groups
They were all carrying flowers.

She, wanted to see him again,
She stepped out to the balcony:
He came back with his wife:
She died of love.

Like ardent bronze,
When he kissed her goodbye,
Her forehead was¡ The forehead
That I have loved the most in my life!

…She went into the river at dusk,
She was dead when the doctor pulled her out:
Some say she died of coldness:
But I know she died of love.

There, in the chilling crypt,
They set her on two benches:
I kissed her slender hand,
I kissed her white shoes.

Silently when it grew dark,
The undertaker called me:
¡I have never again seen
The girl who died of love!