Blasón
I am, endemic and untamed, the singer of America
my lyre has a spirit, my song an idea.
My verse does not swing from branches
with the slow sway of a tropical hammock…
When I feel Inca, I pay homage
to the Sun, who in my hands places the royal center of his power;
when I feel Hispanic and recall the colonizing,
my stanzas are glass trumpets.
All my fancy from my Moorish mothers, and my Moorish fathers,
the Andes are made of silver, but the León is made of gold,
and I melt them both, with cacophonous clamor.
Spanish the blood, and Incan the pulse;
and were I not poet, perhaps then
a white adventurer or Indian emperor.