Ghazal of dark death f. g. lorca - translation

I want to sleep the way the apples sleep
and far away from a tumultuous graveyard.
I want to sleep the way the child sleeps,
who dreamed to lose at sea his lonely heart.

Don’t tell me that the dead could shed no blood,
that mouth would still demand or beg for water.
Don’t tell me how it hurts to be the grass
that drinks the green moonlight before the slaughter.

I want to sleep a little, for a moment,
a minute or a century of sleep.
But let them know that I will never die,
that horses from the stable in my lips   
would race the Western Wind into the sky,
and shadows of my teas are dark and deep.

Wrap me at dawn in a protective veil
for Death will hurl at me a swarm of ants,
and sprinkle me with heavy, salty water
so scorpions would slide from bare hands.

Because I want to sleep as apples sleep,
to learn laments that cleanse of earth, to start
the life of free, to live like that dark child
who dreamed to lose at sea his lonely heart.