I have a skin the colour of mules or of red tobacco,

I have a hat made of the pith of the elder covered with white linen.

My pride is that my daughter should be very-beautiful when she gives orders to the black women,

my joy, that she should have a very-white arm among her black hens;

and that she should not be ashamed of my rough, hairy cheek when I come home covered with mud.

And first I give her my whip, my gourd, and my hat.

Smiling she forgives me my dripping face; and lifts to her face my hands, oily

from testing the cacao seed and the coffee bean.

And then she brings me a rustling bandanna; and my woollen robe; pure water to rinse my mouth of few words:

and the water for my washbasin is there; and I can hear the running water in the water-cabin.

A man is hard, his daughter, tender. Let her always be waiting,

when he returns, on the topmost step of the white house,

and, freeing his horse from the pressure of his knees,

he will forget the fever that draws all the skin of his face inward.

I also love my dogs, the call of my finest horse,

and to see at the end of the straight avenue my cat coming out of the house accompanied by the monkey …

all things sufficient to keep me from envying the sails of the sailing ships

which I see on a level with the tin roof on the sea like a sky.