From Dreaming

by Juan Ramón Jiménez

From Dreaming 

- No, no!

and the dirtyneck boy starts crying and running

without getting away, in a moment, on the streets.

His hands,

he's got something in his hands!

he doesn't know what it is, but he runs to the dawn

With his hidden prize.

Endlessly beforehand, we know what his trophy is;

something ignored, that the soul keeps awake in us.

We almost start to glitter inside his gold

with extravagant nakedness...

- No, no!

and the dirtyneck boy starts crying and running

without getting away, in a moment, on the street.

The arm is strong, it could easily grab him...

The heart, also a beggar, lets him go. 

Rose Of The Sea

The white moon takes the sea away from the sea

and gives it back to the sea. Beautiful,

conquering by means of the pure and tranquil,

the moon compels the truth to delude itself

that it is truth become whole, eternal, solitary,

though it is not so.

Yes.

Divine plainness,

you pierce the familiar certainty, you place

a new soul into whatever is real.

Unpredictable rose! you took the rose away

from the rose, and you could give back

the rose to the rose. 

Moguer

Moguer. Mother and brothers.

The house, clean and warm.

What sunlight there is, what rest

in the whitening cemetery!

In a moment, love grows remote.

The sea does not exist; the field

of vineyards, reddish and level,

is the world, like a bright shining on nothing,

and flimsy, like a bright light shining on nothing.

Here I have been cheated enough!

Here, the only healthy thing to do is die.

This is the way out, that I wanted so badly,

that escapes into the sunset.

Moguer. If only I could rise up, sanctified!

Moguer. Brothers.