Green, how I want you, green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship on the sea and the horse on the mountain.
With the shadow at her waist, she dreams on her balcony,
green flesh, green hair, with eyes of cold silver.
Green, how I want you, green.
Under the gypsy moon,
things are watching her and she cannot see them.
Green, how I want you, green.
Large frost-covered stars come with the fish of shadow
that opens the path of dawn.
The fig tree rubs its wind against the roughness of its branches,
and the mountain, a cunning cat,
bristles its sour spines.
But who will come? And from where…?
She remains on her balcony,
green flesh, green hair,
dreaming of the bitter sea.
…
Green, how I want you, green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship on the sea
and the horse on the mountain.
Translated from the Spanish
#lorca