I
Against the flowering mountain,
the wide sea surges.
The comb of my honeybees
has gathered grains of salt.

II
Against the black water.
Scent of sea and jasmine.
Malaga night.

III
Spring has come.
No one knows what has happened.

IV
Spring has come.
White hallelujahs
from the brambles in flower!

V
Full moon, full moon,
so pregnant, so round.
This serene March night,
honeycomb of light
carved by white bees!

VI
Castille night;
the song is said,
or, better, unsaid.
When all sleep
I'll go to the window.

Antonio Machado