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Vicente Aleixandre-song to a dead girl-

Song to a Dead Girl
Vicente Aleixandre (Sevilla, 1898-1984)

Tell me, tell me the secret of your heart virgin
tell me the secret of your body underground
I know why now are water, fresh
those banks where bare feet bathe with foam. Tell me why
on your hair down, on your sweet grass
cherished,
falling, slipping, caresses, is Vaun scorching sun or rested
touches you like a wind that takes only a bird or hand.
Tell me why your heart like a tiny jungle underground
expects the impossible birds that song
total above
eyes are the dreams they pass quietly.
Oh you, song to a dead body or alive,
that a being beautiful on the floor sleeping, singing
stone color, color or lip kiss,
sing as if the pearl sleep or breathe. That
waist, the weak volume a chest sad that curl
ignored fickle wind
those eyes where only silence vogue,
these ivory teeth are protected,
that air does not move non-green leaves.
Oh you, you spend laughing sky like a cloud;
oh happy bird on his shoulder laughing;
source, jet cool, get entangled with the moon;
soft grass beneath their feet feet worshiped!