Federico García Lorca

(5 June 1898 – 19 August 1936 / Fuente Vaqueros)

Federico García Lorca Poems

1. Adam 3/29/2010
2. Adivinanza De La Guitarra 1/1/2004
3. Arbolé, Arbolé 1/1/2004
4. Balada Amarilla Iv 1/1/2004
5. Ballad Of The Moon 1/3/2003
6. Before The Dawn 1/3/2003
7. Cantos Nuevos 3/29/2010
8. City That Does Not Sleep 1/3/2003
9. Dawn 3/29/2010
10. Debussy [with English Translation] 3/30/2010
11. Declaring 3/29/2010
12. Ditty Of First Desire 1/3/2003
13. El Balcón 1/3/2003
14. Gacela Of The Dark Death 1/3/2003
15. Gacela Of The Dead Child 1/3/2003
16. Gacela Of Unforseen Love 1/3/2003
17. La Casada Infiel 1/1/2004
18. Lament For Ignacio Sánchez Mejías 1/3/2003
19. Landscape Of A Vomiting Multitude 1/3/2003
20. Las Seis Cuerdas 1/1/2004
21. Little Viennese Waltz 1/3/2003
22. Muerte De AntoÑIto El Camborio 1/1/2004
23. MuriÓ Al Amanecer 1/1/2004
24. Nocturnos De La Ventana 1/1/2004
25. Ode To Salvador Dali 3/29/2010
26. Ode To Walt Whitman 3/29/2010
27. Paisaje 1/1/2004
28. Peaceful Waters:Variation 3/29/2010
29. Piccolo Valzer Viennese 1/1/2004
30. Preciosa Y El Aire 1/1/2004
31. Romance Sonámbulo 1/1/2004
32. Saturday Paseo: Adelina 1/3/2003
33. Serenata 1/3/2003
34. Sonnet 1/1/2004
35. Sonnet Of The Sweet Complaint 1/3/2003
36. The Faithless Wife 1/3/2003
37. The Guitar-La Guitarra 3/29/2010
38. The Gypsy And The Wind 1/3/2003
39. The Little Mute Boy 1/3/2003
40. The Old Lizard 3/26/2012
Best Poem of Federico García Lorca

City That Does Not Sleep

In the sky there is nobody asleep. Nobody, nobody.
Nobody is asleep.
The creatures of the moon sniff and prowl about their cabins.
The living iguanas will come and bite the men who do not dream,
and the man who rushes out with his spirit broken will meet on the
street corner
the unbelievable alligator quiet beneath the tender protest of the
stars.

Nobody is asleep on earth. Nobody, nobody.
Nobody is asleep.
In a graveyard far off there is a corpse
who has moaned for three years
because of a dry countryside on his knee;
and that boy they buried this ...

Read the full of City That Does Not Sleep

Serenata

The night soaks itself
along the shore of the river
and in Lolita's breasts
the branches die of love.

The branches die of love.

Naked the night sings
above the bridges of March.

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