DANCE OF THE SANTIAGO MOON

Look at that white gallant
look at his wasted flesh!

It’s the moon that’s dancing
in the Courtyard of the Dead.

Look at his wasted flesh,
black with twilight and wolves.

Mother: The moon dances
in the Courtyard of the Dead.

Who wounds the horse of stone
at the gates of sleep?

It’s the moon! It’s the moon
in the Courtyard of the Dead!

Who looks in my grey windows,
with an eye full of cloud?

It’s the moon! It’s the moon
in the Courtyard of the Dead!

Let me die in my bed
dreaming the flower of gold.

Mother: The moon dances
in the Courtyard of the Dead.

Ay, daughter, the air in the sky
has suddenly turned me white!

It isn’t the air, it’s the sad moon
in the Courtyard of the Dead.

Who groans with that groan
of an ox, huge and malcontent?

Mother: It’s the moon, the moon
in the Courtyard of the Dead.

Yes, the moon, the moon,
crowned with yellow gorse,
that dances, dances, dances,
in the Courtyard of the Dead!