There is a line in Verlaine I shall not recall again,
There is a street close by forbidden to my feet,
There’s a mirror that’s seen me for the very last time,
There is a door that I have locked till the end of the world.
Among the books in my library (I have them before me)
There are some that I shall never open now.
This summer I complete my fiftieth year;
Death is gnawing at me ceaselessly.
Julio Platero Haedo: Inscripciones (Montevideo, 1923)
[From Dreamtigers, by Jorge Luis Borges, translated by Harold Morland]