The metaphysical endurance of love after death is captured beautifully here by Quevedo, who by the age of just 23 was an acclaimed poet.

The final shadow that will close my eyes

will in its darkness take me from white day

and instantly untie the soul from lies

and flattery of death, and find its way

and yet my soul won’t leave its memory

of love there on the shore where it has burned:

my flame can swim cold water and has learned

to lose respect for laws’ severity.

My soul, whom a God made his prison of,

my veins, which a liquid humour fed to fire,

my marrows, which have gloriously flamed,

will leave their body, never their desire;

they will be ash but ash in feeling framed;

they will be dust but will be dust in love.