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On the branches whiteness
Standing erect. What shrub?
Flower toward me. I pull it off,
Fatally I pull it off. I am my pleasure

This flower smells of...
                        It isn't.

I remember the attack of this almost sourness
Sharp like a taste.
A taste or smell. And a faithful name. Maybe...
Yes, syringa! Perfect: in its name it becomes bare.


Jorge Guillén
Translation by Joaquín González Muela

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Primera serie. Cántico. Fe de Vida
3. El pájaro en la mano. II
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