viernes, 23 de marzo de 2012

Federico García Lorca


The law of the past encountered
in my present night.
Splendour of adolescence
that opposes snowfall.
My two children of secrecy
cannot yield you a place,
dark-haired moon-girls of air
with exposed hearts.
But my love seeks the garden
where your spirit does not die.

Law of hip and breast
under the outstretched branch,
ancient and newly born
power of the Spring.
Now, bee, my nakedness wants
to be the dahlia of your fate,
the murmur or wine
of your madness and number:
but my love looks for the pure
madness of breeze and warbling.

Translated by A. S. Kline

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