Page 48 -

41
Poems by Federico García Lorca (1898–1936)
Balance
Night is quiet—always.
It is day that goes and comes.
Dead of night soaring. Day with its wing.
Night hovering above mirrors,
And day stirring beneath the wind.
Translated by Wally Swist
Song of Adeline, the Streetwalker
There are no oranges in the sea, there’s no love in Seville.
Tawny girl, your glances blaze— share your parasol.
I’ll tint my face green
—with the juice of lemons and limes— your words—just little fish—
finning around.
As far as oranges,
the sea has none—
Oh, love,
neither is there any love in Seville.
wally swist