Pillar of Santa Ana Square

Pillar of Santa Ana Square

By the river banks

the night is getting wet

and on Lolita's breasts

the bouquets are dying of love.

The bouquets are dying of love.

The night sings naked

on the bridges of March.

Lolita washes her body

with brackish water and tuberoses.

The bouquets are dying of love.

The night of anise and silver

shines on the roofs.

Silver of streams and mirrors,

anise of your white thighs.

The bouquets are dying of love.

(F. García Lorca)

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