The sea

smiles from far off.

Teeth of foam,

lips of sky.

What do you sell, oh, turbid maid,

with your breasts to the wind?

I sell, sir, the water

of the seas.

What do you carry, oh, black youth,

mixed with your blood?

I carry, sir, the water

of the seas.

These salt tears,

Mother, from where do they come?

I weep, sir, the water

of the seas.

Heart; and this grave

bitterness, where was it born?

Very bitter is the water

of the seas!

The sea

smiles from far off.

Teeth of foam,

lips of the sky.

Poem

by

Federico

Garcia Lorca