Federico Garcia Lorca

Remanso, Final Song

The night is coming. The moonlight strikes on evening's anvil. The night is coming. A giant tree clothes itself in the leaves of cantos. The night is coming. If you came to see me, on the path of storm-winds... The night is coming. ...you would find me crying, under high, black poplars. Ay, girl with the dark hair! Under high, black poplars.

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