A Translation
Ay que trabajo me cuesta quererte como te quiero!
Because I love you the table And the heart and the lamplight Feel sorry for me.
Who will buy from me That small belt I have And that sadness of white thread To weave handkerchiefs?
Because I love you the ceiling And the heart and the air Feel sorry for me.
Ay que trabajo me cuesta quererte como te quiero!
The Spanish lines that open and close the poem are a refrain meaning roughly "Oh, what hard work it is for me to love you the way I love you!" Right away, love is described as labor, something exhausting rather than blissful. In between, the speaker imagines the ordinary things in the room, the table, the lamplight, the ceiling, the air, even the heart, all feeling sorry for him. It's a strange, tender image: his love is so heavy that the whole house pities him.
The middle stanza turns to poverty. He offers a small belt and "sadness of white thread" for sale, as if his only goods are scraps of grief that someone might weave into handkerchiefs, which are things you use to wipe away tears. Nobody, of course, is buying.
The mood is sad but oddly gentle, almost like a folk lament. The speaker isn't angry. He seems resigned, and a little worn out, offering his devotion up like a poor man's wares.