Semblance of my elusive love, hold still—
image of a bewitchment fondly cherished,
lovely fiction that robs my heart of joy,
fair mirage that makes it joy to perish.
Since already my breast, like willing iron,
yields to the powerful magnet of your charms,
why must you so flatteringly allure me,
then slip away and cheat my eager arms?
Even so, you shan't boast, self-satisfied,
that your tyranny has triumphed over me,
evade as you will arms opening wide,
all but encircling your phantasmal form:
in vain shall you elude my fruitless clasp,
for fantasy holds you captive in its grasp.
Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz
(1651-1695)
translasted by Alan S. Trueblood
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