spanish poem

o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
she limps with halting painful pace
you are beautiful and faded
there is no flock, however watched and tended
over the river they beckon to me
with her hair flaying wildly
my soul is a dark ploughed field
in an old chamber softly lit
there is an hour of peaceful rest
the stars fell from heaven
he's gone
i've won the race
come down at dawn from windless hills