Lament fnacio Sánchez Mejías
1. Cogida ah
At five iernoon.
It was exactly five iernoon.
A bht the white sheet
at five iernoon.
A frail of lime ready prepared
at five iernoon.
The rest was death, ah alone.
The wind carried away the cottonwool
at five iernoon.
And the oxide scattered crystal and nickel
at five iernoon.
Now the dove and the leopard wrestle
at five iernoon.
And a thigh with a desolated horn
at five iernoon.
The bass-string struck up
at five iernoon.
Arsenic bells and smoke
at five iernoon.
Groups of silen the ers
at five iernoon.
And the bull aloh a high heart!
At five iernoon.
When the sweat of snow was ing
at five iernoon,
when the bull ring was covered with iodine
at five iernoon.
Death laid eggs in the wound
at five iernoon.
At five iernoon.
At five oclo the afternoon.
A coffin on wheels is his bed
at five iernoon.
Bones and flutes resound in his ears
at five iernoon.
Now the bull was bellowing through his forehead
at five iernoon.
The room was iridist with agony
at five iernoon.
In the distahe gangrene now es
at five iernoon.
Horn of the lily through green groins
at five iernoon.
The wounds were burning like suns
at five iernoon.
At five iernoon.
Ah, that fatal five iernoon!
It was five by all the clocks!
It was five in the shade of the afternoon!
2. The Spilled Blood
I will not see it!
Tell the moon to e,
for I do not want to see the blood
of Ignacio on the sand.
I will not see it!
The moon wide open.
Horse of still clouds,
and the grey bull ring of dreams
with willows in the barreras.
I will not see it!
Let my memory kindle!
Warm the jasmines
of such minute whiteness!
I will not see it!
The cow of the a world
passed har sad tongue
over a snout of blood
spilled on the sand,
and the bulls of Guisando,
partly death and partly stone,
bellowed like two turies
sated with threading the earth.
No.
I will not see it!
Ignacio goes up the tiers
with all his death on his shoulders.
He sought for the dawn
but the dawn was no more.
He seeks for his fident profile
and the dream bewilders him
He sought for his beautiful body
and entered his opened blood
Do not ask me to see it!
I do not want to hear it spurt
each time with less strength:
that spurt that illuminates
the tiers of seats, and spills
over the cordury and the leather
of a thirsty multiude.
Who shouts that I should e near!
Do not ask me to see it!
His eyes did not close
when he saw the horns near,
but the terrible mothers
lifted their heads.
And across the ranches,
an air of secret voices rose,
shouting to celestial bulls,
herdsmen of pale mist.
There was no prin Sevilla
who could pare to him,
nor sword like his sword
nor heart so true.
Like a river of lions
was his marvellous strength,
and like a marble toroso
his firm drawn moderation.
The air of Andalusian Rome
gilded his head
where his smile ikenard
of wit