Wounds of Love by Federico García Lorca
Here’s another one from Lorca, courtesy of the lovely Katie.
Wounds of Love
By Federico García Lorca
This light, this fire that devours,
this gray landscape that surrounds me,
this pain that comes from one idea,
this anguish of the sky, the earth, the hour,
and this lament of blood that decorates
a pulseless lyre, a lascivious torch,
this burden of the sea that beats upon me,
this scorpion that dwells within my breast
are all a wreath of love, bed of one wounded,
where, sleepless, I dream of your presence,
amid the ruins of my fallen breast.
And though I seek the summit of discretion,
your heart gives me a valley spread below
with hemlock and passion of bitter wisdom.
