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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391461" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ballad of the Moon</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">translated by Will Kirkland</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The moon came into the forge<br>in her bustle of flowering nard.<br>The little boy stares at her, stares.<br>The boy is staring hard.<br>In the shaken air<br>the moon moves her amrs,<br>and shows lubricious and pure,<br>her breasts of hard tin.<br>"Moon, moon, moon, run!<br>If the gypsies come,<br>they will use your heart<br>to make white necklaces and rings."<br>"Let me dance, my little one.<br>When the gypsies come,<br>they'll find you on the anvil<br>with your lively eyes closed tight.<br>"Moon, moon, moon, run!<br>I can feelheir horses come."<br>"Let me be, my little one,<br>don't step on me, all starched and white!"</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Closer comes the the horseman,<br>drumming on the plain.<br>The boy is in the forge;<br>his eyes are closed.<br>Through the olive grove<br>come the gypsies, dream and bronze,<br>their heads held high,<br>their hooded eyes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, how the night owl calls,<br>calling, calling from its tree!<br>The moon is climbing through the sky<br>with the child by the hand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They are crying in the forge,<br>all the gypsies, shouting, crying.<br>The air is veiwing all, views all.<br>The air is at the viewing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Federico+Garc%C3%ADa+Lorca">Federico García Lorca</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391461" data-title="Ballad of the Moon de Federico García Lorca" data-description="translated by Will Kirkland The moon came into the forge in her bustle of flowering nard. The little boy stares at her, stares. The boy is staring hard. In the shaken air the moon moves her amrs, and shows lubricious and pure, her breasts of hard..."></div> </div> </div>
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