XXIX
The Garden of Flaming Lilies
The voice of some maid servant singing a copla waked me early in the morning, after an hour or two of sleep.
El amor y la naranja
se parecen infinito;
Que por muy dulces que sean
de agrio tienen su poquito.[1]
Yes, always a little bitter, I said to myself. But if for me there were after all to be some sweetness left?