I'm hurt, hurt and humiliated beyond endurance, seeing the wheat ripening, the fountains never ceasing to give water, the sheep bearing hundreds of lambs, the she-dogs, until it seems the whole country rises to show me its tender sleeping young while I feel two hammer-blows here instead of the mouth of my child.

The speaker’s anguish is sharpened by the surrounding abundance of life: ripening wheat, inexhaustible springs, and animals multiplying. Nature’s fertility becomes a cruel counterpoint to personal barrenness or loss, culminating in the visceral image of “two hammer-blows” where a child’s mouth should be—suggesting an absent child (through death, separation, or infertility) and the bodily, physicalized pain of that absence. The passage dramatizes how grief can make ordinary signs of renewal feel like accusation, as if the whole landscape conspires to display what the speaker cannot have. It also reflects Lorca’s recurring tension between generative natural cycles and human suffering, where lyric beauty intensifies tragedy rather than consoling it.