Federico García Lorca

Granada, Calle Elvira
where manolas live,
which go to the Alhambra,
three and four alone.
One dressed in green,
another of purple, and the other
a Scottish corselet
with tape to the tail.

The going forward, herons
which goes back, dove,
open in the malls
mysterious muslins.
Oh, how dark is the Alhambra!
Where will the manolas
while suffering in the shade
the supplier and the rose?

What suitors await them?
Under which myrtle lie?
What hands steal perfume
his two round flowers?

No one goes with them, no;
two herons and a dove.
But the world has suitors
that are covered with leaves.
The cathedral has left
the breeze takes bronze;
The Genii sleeps his oxen
Dauro and its butterflies.

The night is preloaded
Hills with their shadow;
one teaches shoes
between lace ruffles;
the more open your eyes
and the shortest half-closes.

Who are those three
high chest and long tail?
Why waving handkerchiefs?
Where will these hours?
Granada, Calle Elvira
where manolas live,
which go to the Alhambra,
three and four alone