My melancholy was gold dust in your hands; br On your long hands I scattered my life; br My sweetnesses remained clutched in your hands; br Now I am a vial of perfume, emptied br br How much sweet torture quietly suffered, br When, my soul wrested with shadowy sadness, br She who knows the tricks, I passed the days br kissing the two hands that stifled my lifebr br Alfonsina Stornibr br