In the velvet calm of long grey slopes of snow
the silky crunch of my steps.
About me vague dark circles of mountains
secret, listening in the intimate silence.
Bleating of sheep, the bark of a dog
and, dun-yellow in the snow
a long flock straggles.
Crying of lambs,
twitching noses of snowflecked ewes,
the proud curved horns of a regal broadgirthed ram,
yellow backs steaming;
then, tails and tracks in the snow,
and the responsible lope of the dog
who stops with a paw lifted to look back
at the baked apple face of the shepherd.
Cercedilla
XXIII
JULIET
You were beside me on the stony path
down from the mountain.
And I was the rain that lashed such flame into your cheeks
and the sensuous rolling hills
where the mists clung like garments.
I was the sadness that came out of the languid rain
and the soft dove-tinted hills
and choked you with the harsh embrace of a lover
so that you almost sobbed.
Siete Picos
XXIV
When they sang as they marched in step
on the long path that wound to the valley
I followed lonely in silence.