O secret voice of hidden love!
O bleating without wool! O wound!
O dry camellia, bitter needle!
O sea-less current, wall-less city!
O night immense with sharpened profile,
heavenly mountain, narrow valley!
O dog inside the heart, voice going,
endless silence, full-blown iris!
Let me be, hot voice of icebergs,
and do not ask me to vanish
in weeds, where sky and flesh are fruitless.
Leave my hard ivory skull forever,
have pity on me. Stop the torture!
O I am love, O I am nature!
Federico García Lorca, 1935-1936
Translated by A. S. Kline