Federico Garcia Lorca Quotes
The Round Silence Of Night,
one Note On The Stave
of The Infinite.
Ripe With Lost Poems,
I Step Naked Into The Street.
The Blackness Riddled
by The Singing Of Crickets:
sound,
that Dead
will-o'-the-wisp,
that Musical Light
perceived
by The Spirit.
A Thousand Butterfly Skeletons
sleep Within My Walls.
A Wild Crowd Of Young Breezes
over The River.
- Hour Of Stars (1920)
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