that I used to see painted against the blue
those afternoons of the old days in Madrid?
Up your deep ravines
and past your bristling peaks
a thousand Guadarramas and a thousand suns
come riding with me, riding to your heart.
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The wind, one brilliant day, called
‘In return for the odor of my jasmine,I’d like all the odor of your roses.’‘I have no roses; all the flowersin my garden are dead.’‘Well then, I’ll take the withered petalsand the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain.’the wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself:‘What have you done with the…
Palacio, good friend,
showing itself on branches of black poplarsby the roads and river? On the steepsof the high Duero, spring is late,but so soft and lovely when it comes!Are there a few new leaveson the old elms?The acacias must still be bare,and the mountain peaks snow-filled.Oh the massed pinks and whitesof Moncayo, massed up there,beauty, in the…
Soria, in blue mountains,
how often I’ve dreamed of youon the plain of flowers,where the Guadalquiviŕ runspast golden orange-treesto the sea.
Last night as I was sleeping,
that a spring was breakingout in my heart.I said: Along which secret aqueduct,Oh water, are you coming to me,water of a new lifethat I have never drunk?Last night as I was sleeping,I dreamt—marvelous error!—that I had a beehivehere inside my heart.And the golden beeswere making white combsand sweet honeyfrom my old failures.Last night as I…
Hills of silver plate,
through which the Duero bendsits crossbow arcround Soria, shadowed oaks,stone dry-lands, naked mountains,white roads and river poplars,twilights of Soria, warlike and mystical,today I feel, for you,in my hearts depths, sadness,sadness of love! Fields of Soria,where it seems the stones have dreams,you go with me! Hills of silver plate,grey heights, dark red rocks.
Has my heart gone to sleep?
stopped working, the waterwheelof the mind run dry,scoops turning empty,only shadow inside?No, my heart is not asleep.It is awake, wide awake.Not asleep, not dreaming—its eyes are opened widewatching distant signals, listeningon the rim of vast silence.