A Feeling
I have the feeling that what I have yet to live is very little.
This head of mine looks like a crucible
Purifies and consumes.
But without a complaint, without a trace of horror,
To finish me, I want on an afternoon without clouds,
Under the limpid sun
A white viper, born from under a great jasmine,
To sweetly, sweetly, sting my heart.
Around one o'clock in the morning on Tuesday, October 25, 1938, at 46, Alfonsina Storni left the hotel room where she was staying in Mar del Plata and went to the sea ...
The next morning two workers found, on the beach, the lifeless body of the poet who had foreseen that she would live little.
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