by Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz （Translated by Jaime Manrique and Joan Larkin）    Love opened a mortal wound.    In agony， I worked the blade    to make it deeper. Please，    I begged， let death come quick.    Wild， distracted， sick，    I counted， counted    all the ways love hurt me.    One life， I thought a thousand deaths.    Blow after blow， my heart    couldn't survive this beating.    Then how can I explain it？    I came to my senses. I said，    Why do I suffer？ What lover    ever had so much pleasure？