main | Vacant room | Dawning | Butcher shop | Simplicity | Farewell | Dulcia Linquimus Arva | Last sun in Villa Ortúzar | Mythical founding of Buenos Aires | Deathwatch on the Southside | Buenos Aires Deaths | Chess | Quatrain | Cyclical Night | A thirteenth-century poet | Susana Soca | Camden, 1892 | A Northside knife | Milonga of Albornoz | New England, 1967 | The labyrinth | Invocation to Joyce | Tankas | Susana Bombal | Things | Menaced | You | Poem of quantity | The sentinel | To the German language | 1891 | Hengist asks for men, A.D. 449 | Browning poet resolves to be | Suicide | I am | Fifteen coins | Blind man | 1972 | Elegy | The exile (1977) | In memory of Angelica | My books | Talismans | The white deer | The profound rose | Mexico | Herman Melville | To Johannes Brahms | Baruch Spinoza | Alhambra | Music box | Adam is your ashes | On acquiring an encyclopedia | Nostalgia for the present | The accomplice | Shinto | The cipher | My last tiger | The cypress leaves | The weft
With laggard love she saw
Colors of the evening. She was pleased
To lose herself in complex melody
Or in the rather curious life of verses.
Not basic red but grays of every hue spun
For her her thread of delicate destiny,
Made to discriminate, exercised well and truly
In vacillation and every tint of nuance.
Never daring at all tread that perplexed
Labyrinth, she looked on from outside
The forms and all the tumult and the ride,
Like that other lady of the glass.
Gods whose dwelling-place is past all prayer
Abandoned her unto that tiger, Fire.