At five in ternoon.

        It ly five in ternoon.

        A be s

        at five in ternoon.

        A frail of lime ready prepared

        at five in ternoon.

        t h alone.

        ttonwool

        at five in ternoon.

        And ttered crystal and nickel

        at five in ternoon.

        Nole

        at five in ternoon.

        And a ted horn

        at five in ternoon.

        tring struck up

        at five in ternoon.

        Arsenic bells and smoke

        at five in ternoon.

        Groups of silen the ers

        at five in ternoon.

        And t!

        At five in ternoon.

        of snow was ing

        at five in ternoon,

        wh iodine

        at five in ternoon.

        Deathe wound

        at five in ternoon.

        At five in ternoon.

        At five oclo ternoon.

        A coffin on wheels is his bed

        at five in ternoon.

        Bones and flutes resound in his ears

        at five in ternoon.

        Nh his forehead

        at five in ternoon.

        t h agony

        at five in ternoon.

        In tahe gangrene now es

        at five in ternoon.

        hrough green groins

        at five in ternoon.

        the wounds were burning like suns

        at five in ternoon.

        At five in ternoon.

        A fatal five in ternoon!

        It he clocks!

        It ernoon!

        I    see it!

        tell to e,

        for I do not    to see the blood

        of Ignacio on the sand.

        I    see it!

        the moon wide open.

        ill clouds,

        and the grey bull ring of dreams

        he barreras.

        I    see it!

        Let my memory kindle!

        arm the jasmines

        of suce weness!

        I    see it!

        t world

        passed ongue

        over a snout of blood

        spilled on the sand,

        and the bulls of Guisando,

        partly deatly stone,

        bellouries

        sated h.

        No.

        I    see it!

        Ignacio goes up tiers

        h on his shoulders.

        for the dawn

        but the dawn was no more.

        profile

        and the dream bewilders him

        for iful body

        and entered his opened blood

        Do not ask me to see it!

        I do not    to    spurt

        eacime rength:

        t spurt t illuminates

        tiers of seats, and spills

        over ther

        of a ty multiude.

        s t I should e near!

        Do not ask me to see it!

        close

        whe horns near,

        but terrible mothers

        lifted their heads.

        And across the ranches,

        an air of secret voices rose,

        sing to celestial bulls,

        .

        there was no prin Sevilla

        wo him,

        nor sword like his sword

        nor    so true.

        Like a river of lions

        h,

        and like a marble toroso

        ion.

        the air of Andalusian Rome

        gilded his head

        where his smile ikenard

        of    and intelligence.

        a great torero in the ring!

        a good peasant in the sierra!

        le he sheaves!

        he spurs!

        ender he dew!

        a!

        remendous he final

        banderillas of darkness!

        But now    end.

        Nohe grass

        open h sure fingers

        the flower of his skull.

        And now    singing;

        singing along marshes and meadows,

        sliden on frozen horns,

        faltering soulles in t

        stoumbling over a thousand hoofs

        like a long, dark, sad tongue,

        to form a pool of agony

        close tuadalquivir.

        Oe wall of Spain!

        Oh, black bull of sorrow!

        Oh, hard blood of Ignacio!

        Oingale of his veins!

        No.

        I    see it!

        No    it,

        no s,

        no frost of lig,

        nor song nor deluge og we lilies,

        no glass    cover mit h silver.

        No.

        I    see it!

        Stone is a forehead where dreames grieve

        curving ers and frozen cypresses.

        Stone is a so bear time

        rees formed of tears and ribbons and plas.

        I ohe waves

        raising tender riddle arms,

        to avoid being caugone

        heir blood.

        For stohers seed and clouds,

        skeleton larks and wolves of penumbra:

        but yields not sounds nor crystals nor fire,

        only bull rings and bull rings and more bull rings    walls.

        Noone.

        All is finis is emplate his face:

        death pale sulphur

        and aur.

        All is finisrates h.

        t,

        and Love, soaked tears of snow,

        self on the herd.

        is tenctles down.

        e are    which fades away,

        ingales

        and    being filled hless holes.

        true!

        Nobody sings he er,

        nobody pricks terrifies t.

        not the round eyes

        to see    a c.

        to see those men of hard voice.

        t break e rivers;

        ton who sing

        .

        to see tone.

        Before th broken reins.

        I    to kno

        for tain stripped doh.

        I    to s like a river

        s and deep shores,

        to take t looses itself

        ing of the bulls.

        Loses itself in the moon

        bull,

        loses itself in t    song of fishes

        and i of frozen smoke.

        I dont    to cover h handkerchiefs

        t    used to th he carries.

        Go, Ignacio, feel not t bellowing

        Sleep, fly, rest: even the sea dies!

        t knoree,

        nor ts in your own house.

        ternoon do not know you

        because you have dead forever.

        tone does not know you

        nor ttered.

        Your silent memory does not know you

        because you have died forever

        tumn e snails,

        misty grapes and clustered hills,

        but no one o your eyes

        because you have died forever.

        Because you have died for ever,

        like all th,

        like all tten

        in a heap of lifeless dogs.

        Nobady kno I sing of you.

        For posterity I sing of your profile and grace.

        Of turity of your uanding.

        Of your appetite for deataste of its mouth.

        Of t gaiety.

        It ime, if ever, before there is born

        an Andalusian so true, so ricure.

        I sing of    groan,

        and I remember a sad breeze trees.
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