<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=413340" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The White Bull</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ev'ry dusk eye in Madrid,<br>Flash'd blue 'neath its lid;<br>As the cry and the clamour ran round,<br>'The king has been crown'd!<br>And the brow of his bride has been bound<br>With the crown of a queen!'<br>And between<br>Te Deum and salvo, the roar<br>Of the crowd in the square,<br>Shook tower and bastion and door,<br>And the marble of altar and floor;<br>And high in the air,<br>The wreaths of the incense were driven<br>To and fro, as are riven<br>The leaves of a lily, and cast<br>By the jubilant shout of the blast<br>To and fro, to and fro,<br>And they fell in the chancel and nave,<br>As the lily falls back on the wave,<br>And trembl'd and faded and died,<br>As the white petals tremble and shiver,<br>And fade in the tide<br>Of the jewel dark breast of the river.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Ho, gossips, the wonderful news!<br>I have worn two holes in my shoes,<br>With the race I have run;<br>And, like an old grape in the sun,<br>I am shrivell'd with drought, for I ran<br>Like an antelope rather than man.<br>Our King is a king of Spaniards indeed,<br>And he loves to see the bold bull bleed;<br>And the Queen is a queen, by the saints right fit,<br>In half of the Spanish throne to sit;<br>Tho' blue her eyes and wanly fair,<br>Her cheek, and her neck, and her flaxen hair;<br>For free and full--<br>She can laugh as she watches the staggering bull;<br>And tap on the jewels of her fan,<br>While horse and man,<br>Reel on in a ruby rain of gore;<br>And pout her lip at the Toreador;<br>And fling a jest<br>If he leave the fight with unsullied vest,<br>No crack on his skin,<br>Where the bull's sharp horn has entered in.<br>Caramba, gossips, I would not be king,<br>And rule and reign<br>Over wine-shop, and palace, and all broad Spain,<br>If under my wing--<br>I had not a mate who could joy to the full,<br>In the gallant death of a man or a bull!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'What is the news<br>That has worn two holes in my Saints'-day shoes,<br>And parch'd me so with heat and speed,<br>That a skin of wine down my throat must bleed?<br>Why this, there's a handsome Hidalgo at Court,<br>And half in sport,<br>He scour'd the country far and wide,<br>For a gift to pleasure the royal bride;<br>And on the broad plains of the Guadalquiver<br>He gave a pull--<br>To the jewell'd bridle and silken rein,<br>That made his stout horse rear and shiver;<br>For in the dusk reeds of the silver river--<br>Like the angry stars that redly fly<br>From the dark blue peaks of the midnight sky,<br>And smouldering lie,<br>Blood-red till they die<br>In the blistering ground--the eyes he saw<br>Of a bull without blemish, or speck, or flaw,<br>And a hide as white as a dead saint's soul--<br>With many a clinking of red pistole;<br>And draughts of sour wine from the herdsman's bowl,<br>He paid the full<br>Price in bright gold of the brave white bull.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Comrades we all<br>From the pulpit tall<br>Have heard the fat friars say God has decreed<br>That the peasant shall sweat and the soldier shall bleed,<br>And Hidalgo and King<br>May righteously wring<br>Sweat and blood from us all, weak, strong, young and old,<br>And turn the tax into Treasury gold.<br>Well, the friar knows best,<br>Or why wear a cowl?<br>And a cord round his breast?<br>So why should we scowl?<br>The friar is learned and knows the mind,<br>From core to rind,<br>Of God, and the Virgin, and ev'ry saint<br>That a tongue can name or a brush can paint;<br>And I've heard him declare--<br>With a shout that shook all the birds in the air,<br>That two kinds of clay<br>Are used in God's Pottery every day.<br>The finest and best he puts in a mould<br>Of purest gold,<br>Stamped with the mark of His signet ring,<br>And He turns them out,<br>(While the angels shout)<br>The Pope and the priest, the Hidalgo and King!<br>And He gives them dominion full and just<br>O'er the creatures He kneads from the common dust,<br>And the clay, stamped with His proper sign,<br>Has right divine<br>To the sweat, and the blood and the bended knee<br>Of such, my gossips, as ye and me.<br>Who cares? Not I<br>Only let King and Hidalgo buy,<br>With the red pistoles<br>They wring from our sweltering bodies and souls,<br>Treasures as full<br>Of the worth of gold as the bold white bull!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'The Hidalgo rode back to the Court:<br>And to finish the sport,<br>When the King had been crowned,<br>And the flaxen hair of the bride had been bound,<br>With the crown of the Queen;<br>He took a huge necklace of plates of gold,<br>With rubies between;<br>And wound it threefold<br>Round the brute's broad neck, and with ruby ring<br>In its fire-puffed nostrils had it led<br>To the feet of the Queen as she sat by the King,<br>With the red crown set on her lily head;<br>And she said--<br>'Let the bull be led<br>To the floor<br>Of the arena: Proclaim,<br>In my name,<br>That the valliant and bold Toreador,<br>Who slays him shall pull<br>The rubies and gold from the gore<br>Of the bold white bull!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'That is the news which I bear;<br>I heard it below in the square--<br>And to and fro,<br>I heard the voice blow<br>Of Pedro, the brawny young Toreador,<br>As he swore<br>By the tremulous light of the golden star<br>That quivers beneath the soft lid<br>Of Pilar,<br>Who sells tall lilies through fair Madrid;<br>He would wind six-fold<br>Round her neck, long, slender, round and full,<br>The rubies and gold<br>That three times rolled<br>Round the mighty breast of the bold white bull.<br>And loudly he sang,<br>While the wine cups rang,<br>'If I'm the bravest Toreador<br>In gallant, gay Madrid,<br>If thou hast got the brightest eye<br>That dances 'neath a lid;<br>If e'er of Andalusian wine<br>I drank a bottle full,<br>The gold, the rubies shall be thine<br>That deck the bold white bull.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Already a chorus rings out in the city,<br>A jubilant ditty,<br>And every guitar<br>Vibrates to the names of Pedro and Pilar;<br>And the strings and voices are soulless and dull<br>That sound not the name of the bold white bull!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Isabella+Valancy+Crawford">Isabella Valancy Crawford</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=413340" data-title="The White Bull de Isabella Valancy Crawford" data-description="Ev'ry dusk eye in Madrid, Flash'd blue 'neath its lid; As the cry and the clamour ran round, 'The king has been crown'd! And the brow of his bride has been bound With the crown of a queen!' And between Te Deum and salvo, the roar Of the crowd in t..."></div> </div> </div>

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