Por las arboledas del Tamarit
han venido los perros de plomo
a esperar que se caigan los ramos
a esperar que se quiebren ellos solos.
El Tamarit tiene un manzano
con una manzana de sollozos.
Un ruiseñor agrupa los suspiros,
y un faisán los ahuyenta por el polvo.
Pero los ramos son alegres,
los ramos son como nosotros.
No piensan en la lluvia y se han dormido,
como si fueran árboles, de pronto.
Sentados con el agua en las rodillas
dos valles esperaban al otoño.
La penumbra con paso de elefante
empujaba las ramas y los troncos.
Por las arboledas del Tamarit
hay muchos niños de velado rostro
a esperar que se caigan mis ramos
a esperar que se quiebren ellos solos.

Through the groves of the Tamarit 
the dogs of lead have come 
to wait for the branches to fall 
to see if they'll break off by themselves. 
Sitting with the water up to their knees 
two valleys are waiting for autumn. 
The gloom with elephant's tread 
pushes at the branches and the trunks. 
The Tamarit has an apple tree 
with an apple of sobs. 
A nightingale gathers the sighs together, 
and a pheasant chases them through the dust. 
Through the groves of the Tamarit 
there are many children with their faces veiled 
waiting for my branches to fall, 
waiting for them to break off by themselves.
But the branches are cheerful, 
the branches are like us. 
Not thinking of the rain, they have gone to sleep, 
as if they had  become trees suddenly.

This poem appears as Casida III in the collection Diván del Tamarit. It was first published in Ciudad nr. 1, 26 December 1934.
The trtanslation was done by me. The photograph was taken by René-Charles Hirt when he visited Granada in the spring of 1999. It is the driveway to the Huerta del Tamarit, near the River Genil, a short distance from the Huerta de San Vicente on the edge of the city.

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