I want to descent the well,
I want to climb the walls of Granada,
To gaze at the heart graved
By the dark stylus of waters.

The wounded child moaned
With a crown of frost.
Ponds, cisterns and fountains
Raised their swords in the air.
Ay what fury of love, what a wounding edge,
what nocturnal murmurs, what white deaths!
What deserts of light went destroying
the sand-dunes of dawn!
The child was alone
Wth the sleeping town in his throat.
A fountain that rises from dream
guarded him from thirsts of seaweed.
The child and his agony face to face,
Were two green entangled showers.
The child stretched on the ground
his agony bent on itself.

I want to descent the well,
I want to die my death by mouthfuls,
I want to fill my heart with moss,
To see the one wounded by water.