At five in ternoon.
It ly five in ternoon.
A boy brouge s
at five in ternoon.
A frail of lime ready prepared
at five in ternoon.
t h alone.
ttonwool
at five in ternoon.
And ttered crystal and nickel
at five in ternoon.
Nole
at five in ternoon.
And a ted horn
at five in ternoon.
tring struck up
at five in ternoon.
Arsenic bells and smoke
at five in ternoon.
Groups of silence in the corners
at five in ternoon.
And t!
At five in ternoon.
of snow was coming
at five in ternoon,
wh iodine
at five in ternoon.
Deathe wound
at five in ternoon.
At five in ternoon.
At five oclock in ternoon.
A coffin on wheels is his bed
at five in ternoon.
Bones and flutes resound in his ears
at five in ternoon.
Nohrough his forehead
at five in ternoon.
t h agony
at five in ternoon.
In tance the gangrene now comes
at five in ternoon.
hrough green groins
at five in ternoon.
the wounds were burning like suns
at five in ternoon.
At five in ternoon.
A fatal five in ternoon!
It he clocks!
It ernoon!
I see it!
tell to come,
for I do not to see the blood
of Ignacio on the sand.
I see it!
the moon wide open.
ill clouds,
and the grey bull ring of dreams
he barreras.
I see it!
Let my memory kindle!
arm the jasmines
of suce weness!
I see it!
t world
passed ongue
over a snout of blood
spilled on the sand,
and the bulls of Guisando,
partly deatly stone,
bellouries
sated h.
No.
I see it!
Ignacio goes up tiers
h on his shoulders.
for the dawn
but the dawn was no more.
profile
and the dream bewilders him
for iful body
and encountered his opened blood
Do not ask me to see it!
I do not to spurt
eacime rength:
t spurt t illuminates
tiers of seats, and spills
over ther
of a ty multiude.
s t I should come near!
Do not ask me to see it!
close
whe horns near,
but terrible mothers
lifted their heads.
And across the ranches,
an air of secret voices rose,
sing to celestial bulls,
.
there was no prince in Sevilla
wo him,
nor sword like his sword
nor so true.
Like a river of lions
h,
and like a marble toroso
ion.
the air of Andalusian Rome
gilded his head
where his smile was a spikenard
of and intelligence.
a great torero in the ring!
a good peasant in the sierra!
le he sheaves!
he spurs!
ender he dew!
a!
remendous he final
banderillas of darkness!
But now end.
Nohe grass
open h sure fingers
the flower of his skull.
And now singing;
singing along marshes and meadows,
sliden on frozen horns,
faltering soulles in t
stoumbling over a thousand hoofs
like a long, dark, sad tongue,
to form a pool of agony
close to tarry Guadalquivir.
Oe wall of Spain!
Oh, black bull of sorrow!
Oh, hard blood of Ignacio!
Oingale of his veins!
No.
I see it!
No cain it,
no s,
no frost of lig,
nor song nor deluge og we lilies,
no glass can cover mit h silver.
No.
I see it!
Stone is a forehead where dreames grieve
curving ers and frozen cypresses.
Stone is a so bear time
rees formed of tears and ribbons and planets.
I ohe waves
raising tender riddle arms,
to avoid being caugone
heir blood.
For stone gathers seed and clouds,
skeleton larks and wolves of penumbra:
but yields not sounds nor crystals nor fire,
only bull rings and bull rings and more bull rings walls.
Noone.
All is finis is emplate his face:
death pale sulphur
and aur.
All is finisrates h.
t,
and Love, soaked tears of snow,
self on the herd.
is tenctles down.
e are which fades away,
ingales
and being filled hless holes.
true!
Nobody sings he corner,
nobody pricks terrifies t.
not the round eyes
to see a c.
to see those men of hard voice.
t break e rivers;
ton who sing
.
to see tone.
Before th broken reins.
I to kno
for tain stripped doh.
I to s like a river
s and deep shores,
to take t looses itself
ing of the bulls.
Loses itself in the moon
bull,
loses itself in t song of fishes
and in te t of frozen smoke.
I dont to cover h handkerchiefs
t used to th he carries.
Go, Ignacio, feel not t bellowing
Sleep, fly, rest: even the sea dies!
t knoree,
nor ts in your own house.
ternoon do not know you
because you have dead forever.
tone does not know you
nor ttered.
Your silent memory does not know you
because you have died forever
tumn e snails,
misty grapes and clustered hills,
but no one o your eyes
because you have died forever.
Because you have died for ever,
like all th,
like all tten
in a heap of lifeless dogs.
Nobady kno I sing of you.
For posterity I sing of your profile and grace.
Of turity of your understanding.
Of your appetite for deataste of its mouth.
Of t gaiety.
It ime, if ever, before there is born
an Andalusian so true, so ricure.
I sing of groan,
and I remember a sad breeze trees.