The Weeping by Federico Garcia Lorca

I have shut my windows.
I do not want to hear the weeping.
But from behind the grey walls.
Nothing is heard but the weeping.

There are few angels that sing.
There are few dogs that bark.
A thousand violins fit in the palm of the hand.
But the weeping is an immense angel.
The weeping is an immense dog.
The weeping is an immense violin.
Tears strangle the wind.
Nothing is heard but the weeping.

by Federico Garcia Lorca

Other poems by 'Federico Garcia Lorca'

Romance Sonombulo

Ballad of the Moon

City That Does Not Sleep

Lament For Ignacio Sanchez Mejias

Sonnet of the Sweet Complaint

Train Ride

Weeping

Arbol?, Arbol? . . .

Ditty of First Desire

Before the Dawn

Search Poems
e.g. love, marriage, kids

Popular poems this week

In Silence We Left

The Lost Dances of Cranes

The Author to her Book

Summer Evening

The Lesson

To Mæcenas

A chilly Peace infests the Grass

You Fit Into Me

Still I Rise

Les Lauriers Sont Coupée