Mad Hope, though frenzy gilded all with gold,
Dream of the waking, in which we behold
A tissue of dreams with empty treasures rife;
Soul of the world, senility in flower,
Decrepit greenness which our fancies feign,
The desir'd today the fortunate attain,
And for the desperate tomorrow's hour:
Let them thy shade pursue in hope to find
Thy promis'd day, who green eyeglasses wear,
And see the world with their desire painted;
Let me, more prudent, seek in different kind;
In both my hands my two eyes let me bear,
Only with what I touch my sight acquainted.
- Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz; translated by Frank Warnke
