On the gently sloping street,
A family of angels surprises
Us as we meet their being
And all their splendour of ice.
On the early hour our time ends,
Letters engraved seem like antiques
Of the travelling kind, a detail of the flesh
So wonderful in the years of all eternity.
I see the flocks of sheep, I hear
The rearing of lambs and chopping
Of mutton, so sweet is the flesh
Sustained by the sweet, the sweetest.
Windows are shadows, beds are graces,
Patients contemplate on the scene
Of the streets, so powerless and tight,
Experiencing the city of circles I hear.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem