Death of La Petenera

BY FEDERICO GARCÍA LORCA
In the white house
the perdition of men is dying.
One hundred restless ponies wheel and stamp.
Dead are their riders.
Under the lantern’s
wavering stars,
her skirt of moire trembles
between her copper thighs.
One hundred restless ponies wheel and stamp.
Dead are their riders.
Great sharp-edged shadows
come from the clouded horizon,
and the deepest string of a guitar
breaks.
One hundred restless ponies wheel and stamp.
Dead are their riders.