(from the Spanish of Juan Ramón Jiménez)
With that kiss, your mouth
to my mouth, a rose-tree
was sown whose roots
gnaw at my heart.
It was autumn, the vast, empty sky
filled with sunlight
that sucked up all the gold of life
in columns of splendour.
Now, dry summer-time
has come, and the rose-tree – everything passes! –
has opened, too late
a bud of pain in each of my eyes.