Rafael Alberti Poems

The dove was wrong.
The dove was mistaken.
To travel north she flew south,
Believing the wheat was water.
...

I sell clouds of colours,
Ellipses, reddened
To temper the heat!
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If my voice dies on land,
Carry it down to the sea,
And leave it there on the shore.
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With gentle red assaults, Dawn, I was granting you names:
Mistaken dream, Angel without exit, Falsehood of rain in the trees.
At the edges of my soul, that recalls the rivers,
Indecisive, hesitant, still.
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Go, drinking fields and cities,
Transformed to a great deer of water,
Be the ocean of bright dawns,
The kingfisher's nest on the waves.
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Search, search for them:
In the insomnia of forgotten conduits
In gutters blocked by the muteness of litter.
Not far from the pools incapable of retaining a cloud,
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My roe deer, dear friend,
My white roe deer.

The wolves slew her
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Why look so serious, dear road?

You have four grey mules,
A horse in front,
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For you I left my woods, my lost
Grove, my sleepless dogs,
My important years, those banished
Almost to my life's winter.
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Today, the clouds brought me,
In flight, the map of Spain.
How small over the river,
How vast over the meadow
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