Tigers’ gold

Up to the hour of yellow sundown

how many times shall I have seen

the mighty Bengal tiger

come and go on the predestined path

behind the iron bars,

without suspecting they were its jail.

Afterward other tigers will come,.

Blake’s tiger of fire;

afterward other golds will come,

the amorous metal that was Zeus,

the ring that every seven nights

engenders nine rings and those, nine,

and there is no end.

With the years were leaving me

the other beautiful colors

and now there only remains

the vague light, the inextricable dark

and the gold of the beginning.

Oh sunsets, oh tigers oh splendors

of myth and epic,

oh a gold more precious, your hair

longed for by these hands.

Jorge Luis Borges