Treasure Island

Federico García Lorca

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

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!

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003

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