Tú, que nunca serás/You, Who Never Shall be

Tú, que nunca serás

Sábado fue, y capricho el beso dado,
capricho de varón, audaz y fino,
mas fue dulce el capricho masculino
a este mi corazón, lobezno alado.

No es que crea, no creo, si inclinado
sobre mis manos te sentí divino,
y me embriagué. Comprendo que este vino
no es para mí, mas juega y rueda el dado.

Yo soy esa mujer que vive alerta,
tú el tremendo varón que se despierta
en un torrente que se ensancha en río,

y más se encrespa mientras corre y poda.
Ah, me resisto, más me tiene toda,
tú, que nunca serás del todo mío.

— Alfonsina Storni

You, Who Never Shall be

It was Saturday, and on whim the kiss was gave,

Whims of the boy, audacious and fine,

And sweeter was the masculine whim

To this, my heart, o’ wolverine winged.

It is not that I believe – I don’t. So inclined

Across my hands, I felt thee divine

And was thus intoxicated. I understand this wine

Is not for me – but play, and roll the die.

I am this woman who lives alert,

And thee, fantastic boy who awakes,

In the stream that broadens into river,

Which so curls as it runs and so withdraws.

Ah, I resist, but it has me entirely,

Thee, who never shall be mine entirely.

— Anonymous