Lament for Ignacio Sánchez Mejías
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!