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The wild-broom crowned with bay, myrtle, rose,
is the hero among us who faces the debris.
To free each thing without flight, from dust,
below, since it was palm tree and blue, of the sky.

Its sword’s ardour young and joyful’s unresting.
Thin with fear, purity, sunlight, courage,
the white lily that sweeps across the same grave,
is taller each time, is hotter, is purer.

Never! The wild-broom will never be crucified,
because youth recreates its skeleton,
which is a lone flute, dumb but sonorous.

It is a lone tongue, sublime and harmonious.
And before its quick breath the still dust flies,
and a palm tree, a pillar, climbs towards dawn.


Miguel Hernández
Translation by A. S. Kline

subir volver Cancionero y romancero de ausencias (1938-1941)   siguiente anterior
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