the breeze

This cozy cotton bower conceals
Zephyr wrapped in sweet perfume;
In a silk and woolen womb,
Zephyr sleeps with laughing heels.

When the Zephyr lifts his wing
In his cotton-down retreat,
When he flies where robins sing,
His soft breath smells so sweet!

O quintessential breeze!
O distillate of love!
Day’s dew as it dries
Perfumes the sky above!

Jesus! Joseph! Jesus! Mary!
This odor, like a condor’s wing,
Cradles the devotionary …
It sweetens us and makes us sing!

Arthur Rimbaud

Balada triste

¡Mi corazón es una mariposa,
niños buenos del prado!,
que presa por la araña gris del tiempo
tiene el polen fatal del desengaño

(My heart’s a butterfly,
good children of the field,
pinned by time’s grey spider,
filled with disillusionment’s deadly pollen.)

Federico Garcia Lorca