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The beloved sleeps on the poet's breast
You will never understand how much I love you
because you sleep in me and are asleep.
I hide you away as I weep, pursued
by a voice of cutting steel.
Rules that stir both flesh and star
now pierce deep into my aching heart,
and murky words have gnawed
the wings of your austere character.
A group of people prances in the gardens
awaiting your corpse and my anguish
on horses of light with green manes.
But continue to sleep, my life.
O hear my broken blood in the violins!
Look at them waiting, ready to ambush us!
English translation by Paul Archer of Lorca's El amor duerme en el pecho del poeta.
For more translations from Lorca's Sonetos del amor oscuro, go to Sonnets of Dark Love. |
