A specter trailing restless silver,
the night wind with its sighing,
reopened my old wound in its gray hands,
moved on, and left me there desiring.
Wound of love, source to sustain my life
with blood always new and light unblemished.
Cleft in which the tongueless Philomel
will find her nest, her grove, her grief replenished.
Ah, so sweet a sound inside my head!
I shall lie down beside the simple flower
on which your souless beauty soars.
Then the meandering water will turn yellow
as my blood keeps flowing through the marshy,
moist and fragant growth along the shores.
From Canciones (Songs) 1921-1924.