Don Juan Tenorio by José Zorrilla

DON JUAN: My God! What do I find? Even the dead, I see, forsake their tombs for me! But the spirit was my illusion, one I forged in my mind, my imagination gave it that same form in which it came: I blindly believing in the reality of that being know my mind gave it a name. But never before so real the way my crazed reason filled my mad imagination with the power of the ideal. Yes, something supernatural I saw in that Doña Inés through that vaporous haze that dense cloud of trees: but. bah!, this is indeed appropriate for the spirits. What's more delicate or subtle than the fantasy of our dreams? Where is there anything that seems more sweet and malleable? And doesn't it happen a thousand fold that in feverish exultation what we see in imagination as truth and reality is the empty vanity of a longed-for illusion? Yes, by God, that's it! But her statue was here to see.

Yes, I saw it and touched it: even gave a trifling fee to the sculptor who carved it. Now there's only the pedestal and the urn from her funeral. My God! I'm losing my mind, or unexpectedly find some dizziness, infernal. What did that vision say? Oh! I heard her clearly, and her grieving voice, sadly sounds in my heart again. Ah! The hours slip away of the term granted to us. No, no: that's the madness of senseless delirium. My fever opened the tomb the grave of Doña Inés. Leave now, and expire: sinister vapours, clear, mists of my lost love here, and my failed desire! Leave, vain remnants of fire of a love that died being born, do not bring back in the storm, in your whirlwind of confusion, that divine illusion, recalling a woman's form!