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