Federico García Lorca

(5 June 1898 – 19 August 1936 / Fuente Vaqueros)

Federico García Lorca Poems

1. Train Ride 5/29/2015
2. The Old Lizard 3/26/2012
3. Peaceful Waters:Variation 3/29/2010
4. Ode To Walt Whitman 3/29/2010
5. The Guitar-La Guitarra 3/29/2010
6. The Song Of The Barren Orange Tree 3/29/2010
7. Piccolo Valzer Viennese 1/1/2004
8. Saturday Paseo: Adelina 1/3/2003
9. Ode To Salvador Dali 3/29/2010
10. Declaring 3/29/2010
11. Serenata 1/3/2003
12. Paisaje 1/1/2004
13. Sonnet 1/1/2004
14. Preciosa Y El Aire 1/1/2004
15. The Faithless Wife 1/3/2003
16. Cantos Nuevos 3/29/2010
17. Sonnet Of The Sweet Complaint 1/3/2003
18. The Little Mute Boy 1/3/2003
19. Adam 3/29/2010
20. Debussy [with English Translation] 3/30/2010
21. Nocturnos De La Ventana 1/1/2004
22. Muerte De AntoÑIto El Camborio 1/1/2004
23. MuriÓ Al Amanecer 1/1/2004
24. Landscape Of A Vomiting Multitude 1/3/2003
25. Romance Sonámbulo 1/1/2004
26. The Gypsy And The Wind 1/3/2003
27. Weeping 1/3/2003
28. La Casada Infiel 1/1/2004
29. Balada Amarilla Iv 1/1/2004
30. Gacela Of The Dead Child 1/3/2003
31. El Balcón 1/3/2003
32. Ditty Of First Desire 1/3/2003
33. Adivinanza De La Guitarra 1/1/2004
34. Arbolé, Arbolé 1/1/2004
35. Dawn 3/29/2010
36. Little Viennese Waltz 1/3/2003
37. Las Seis Cuerdas 1/1/2004
38. Gacela Of Unforseen Love 1/3/2003
39. Lament For Ignacio Sánchez Mejías 1/3/2003
40. Gacela Of The Dark Death 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Federico García Lorca

City That Does Not Sleep

In the sky there is nobody asleep. Nobody, nobody.
Nobody is asleep.
The creatures of the moon sniff and prowl about their cabins.
The living iguanas will come and bite the men who do not dream,
and the man who rushes out with his spirit broken will meet on the
street corner
the unbelievable alligator quiet beneath the tender protest of the
stars.

Nobody is asleep on earth. Nobody, nobody.
Nobody is asleep.
In a graveyard far off there is a corpse
who has moaned for three years
because of a dry countryside on his knee;
and that boy they buried this ...

Read the full of City That Does Not Sleep

Before The Dawn

But like love
the archers
are blind

Upon the green night,
the piercing saetas
leave traces of warm
lily.

The keel of the moon
breaks through purple clouds
and their quivers
fill with dew.

Ay, but like love
the archers
are blind!

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