Sybille Poem by Prince Roberto Joao

She is of the beauty of the gorges of Pinile
Whose silvery flora caresses a sweet serin.
Her step is only furtive at the threshold of the serene evenings;
It is the golden tigress who purrs, indocile.

Aloof, peaceful or a still statue,
I do not regret the curve of her loins
When clutching at me with her brass nails
And, much more than envy, I like her nubile flesh.

She is like a jewel of a strange blondness,
She has seen the pleasures, the blue evenings, the archangels
And, dreams these secrets from the bottom of these pure eyes.

Her breast is a pale mount embraced by the ether
Her laughter is the destiny which meows in the earth,
Is Sybil made of snow or black stripes?