Sara Teasdale

Ya no existe la magia,
Nos conocimos como otras personas,
Tus ojos ya no obran milagros,
Tampoco mis besos en tus manos.

There is no magic any more,
      We meet as other people do,
You work no miracle for me
      Nor I for you.

You were the wind and I the sea—
      There is no splendor any more,
I have grown listless as the pool
      Beside the shore.

But though the pool is safe from storm
      And from the tide has found surcease,
It grows more bitter than the sea,
      For all its peace.