Who set, between those rocks like cinder,
to show the honey of dream,
that golden broom,
those blue rosemaries?
Who painted the purple mountains
and the saffron, sunset sky?
The hermitage, the beehives,
the cleft of the river
the endless rolling water deep in rocks,
the pale-green of new fields,
all of it, even the white and pink
under the almond trees!
Antonio Machado's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Passageways by Antonio Machado )
- Love is, hasmukh amathalal
- Before A Dream, Tony Adah
- Words Worn-Out, Birgitta Heikka
- Gift of love, ramesh rai
- Tides And Emotions., Marcondes Pereira
- Morning Coffee, Bill Grace
- Happenstance Things, Patti Masterman
- Loot-Hoot-Shoot, Aftab Alam
- The Children See Colors, Hebert Logerie
- Ulterior motive, hasmukh amathalal