Princess of green water,

green wind,

green kiss,

ah, green,

that I want you green,

that I want you!


White dove

from the white dovecote

of the wood daughters,

spread leaves hand

like the rivers that come into the soil

and wound the deaf roots.


Ah, coral princess

that opened its pages for you to read in it

the life’s secret!


Ah, magical princess

that split with your star

the spell of the blind woodcutters

that would pillage, axes in hands,

your green silk cloak!

. . . . . . . . . . . .


You have, princess, the slow gesture from the rivers that,


cross the plain,

the cereal serenity of the moors that the black rook and the white

dove and the tiny sparrows that shout as if in a nursery school

in their flight visit,

the smell of the green meadows where the shamrock and the hay


with the sweet memory alfalfa at the light of dusks

in this country that never becomes night.


By your face, when you smile, the delightful clear morning


and your look makes the snow capped mountains to go pale,

wooing the erect fir trees.


When you sigh a wave of pleasure passes trough the landscape

making the arrogant rush turn its head

and causing a murmur in the crowd that inhabit the top of the


. . . . . . . . . . . .


I am sitting in the golden afternoon that beats like a warm

insect and reaching me the vast pine woods that to the locust and

to the humble botfly give shelter. I feel your green embrace like

an attempt to keep me for a ground too great for the

ochre heart that I harbor.


And I would wish to be like the wolf that, treading on the


quietly approaches the water

or the blackbird that feels the twinkling night

in its black plumage

or the rabbit that runs through the wood

like a piece of fluff

and to let me be wrapped by the green and damp nature’s cloak

and with the dusk blue sapphires knit a garland

for your august head, princess.




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