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？