Ay your hands full of roses! They are purer
your hands roses. And among white sheets
arise as well as pieces of stars,
it dawns butterfly wings, which silks candid.
Can you dropped from the moon? ¿toyed
a heavenly spring? Are they souls?
... They bum lilies otherworldly splendor;
dazzle what they dream, what they sing cool.
My forehead serene, like a sky late,
when you, like your hands, between the clouds litter;
if the kiss, purple grilled my mouth
pales its whiteness stone water.
Your hands in his sleep! Cross, doves
white fire, my bad nightmares,
and Aurora, me open, such as light from you,
the soft light of the East Silver.
Author of the poem: Juan Ramon Jimenez