En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Spain

Across New England snows
Flash visions from afar,
Lithe gipsies on their toes
Dancing to gay guitar;
With gesture fierce, bizarre,
They lilt some old refrain
In whose wild measures are
The witcheries of Spain.
The stinging north wind blows,
But with a ruddy jar
Poised on her proud head goes
A maiden like a star
While, biting his cigar,
Her lover, scorned again,
Loads on his ass-drawn car
The oranges of Spain.
As keen as cameos
Against yon gray cloud-bar
Shine out a tower of rose,
A spire like flaming spar,
Gold shrines whose candles char
The world to ashes, train
Of pilgrims, globular
Pomegranates flushed with Spain.
What freak of calendar,
What frostwork on the pane,
What angry sleet can mar
My picture-book of Spain?

poem by Katharine Lee Bates
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Dons of Spain

The Eagle screams at the beck of trade, so Spain, as the world goes round,
Must wrestle the right to live or die from the sons of the land she found;
For, as in the days when the buccaneer was abroad on the Spanish Main,
The national honour is one thing dear to the hearts of the Dons of Spain.

She has slaughtered thousands with fire and sword, as the Christian world might know;
We murder millions, but, thank the Lord! we only starve 'em slow.
The times have changed since the days of old, but the same old facts remain –
We fight for Freedom, and God, and Gold, and the Spaniards fight for Spain.

We fought with the strength of the moral right, and they, as their ships went down,
They only fought with the grit to fight and their armour to help 'em drown.
It mattered little what chance or hope, for ever their path was plain,
The Church was the Church, and the Pope the Pope – but the Spaniards fought for Spain.

If Providence struck for the honest thief at times in the battle's din –
If ever it struck at the hypocrite – well, that's where the Turks came in;
But this remains ere we leave the wise to argue it through in vain –
There's something great in the wrong that dies as the Spaniards die for Spain.

The foes of Spain may be kin to us who are English heart and soul,
And proud of our national righteousness and proud of the lands we stole;
But we yet might pause while those brave men die and the death-drink pledge again –
For the sake of the past, if you're doomed, say I, may your death be a grand one, Spain!

Then here's to the bravest of Freedom's foes who ever with death have stood –
For the sake of the courage to die on steel as their fathers died on wood;
And here's a cheer for the flag unfurled in a hopeless cause again,
For the sake of the days when the Christian world was saved by the Dons of Spain.

poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Raoul & The Kings Of Spain

When the seventh of the seventh son
Comes along and breaks the chains
Raoul, raoul, raoul and the kings of spain
Making it plain, making it sane
To turn this loss into a gain
Raoul, raoul, raoul and the kings of spain
Raoul, raoul, raoul and the kings of spain
Did you know your father was an island
Did you know your mother was the sea
Can we ever hope to seek asylum
From the bounds of fate and family
When the seventh of the seventh son
Comes along and breaks the chains
Raoul, raoul, raoul and the kings of spain
Making it plain, making it sane
To turn this loss into a gain
Raoul, raoul, raoul and the kings of spain
Raoul, raoul, raoul and the kings of spain
Did you know all mothers come from heaven
Did you know all fathers come from hell
That is why theyre at sixes and seven
That is why their marriage isnt well
When the seventh of the seventh son
Comes along and breaks the chains
Raoul, raoul, raoul and the kings of spain
Making it plain, making it sane
To turn this loss into a gain
Raoul, raoul, raoul and the kings of spain
Raoul, raoul, raoul and the kings of spain

song performed by by Tears For Fears
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lands Far Away

One eye is made for gathering juice from a peach,
This peach called England, and not Italy.
They roll these eyes, as if goers of lands far away
Result in boredom for themselves, like Italy and Spain.
They roll their arms and strut on their legs,
Both of them caught inside tough weight of fruit and flesh.
One other eye has contacted the Brain, as far as the lane,
And what can inspire us into dreams
As much as sleep?
The English weather has a rainy day, an answer to question,
Then given over a Sunday lunch.
They go to Italy or Spain if tired, yet resent the art of going.
Go all to the beaches of Spain, or all go away.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Letter From Spain

I read the papers this morning
I saw your photograph
You look good in the movie
It must be so much fun
Letter from spain
From someone I once knew
I got a letter this morning
Postmark said it was from spain
Your writing is so very strange
I guess it always was that way
Letter from spain
From someone I once knew

song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spain is not here anymore, it remains in America. In Mexico you get the purest essence of Spain.

Ramon Maria del Valle-Inclan in Almond Blossoms (Flores de almendro) (1936), translated by Dan Costinaş
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The Great Journalist In Spain

Good editor Dana-God bless him, we say-
Will soon be afloat on the main,
Will be steaming away
Through the mist and the spray
To the sensuous climate of Spain.

Strange sights shall he see in that beautiful land
Which is famed for its soap and its Moor,
For, as we understand,
The scenery is grand
Though the system of railways is poor.

For moonlight of silver and sunlight of gold
Glint the orchards of lemons and mangoes,
And the ladies, we're told,
Are a joy to behold
As they twine in their lissome fandangoes.

What though our friend Dana shall twang a guitar
And murmur a passionate strain;
Oh, fairer by far
Than those ravishments are
The castles abounding in Spain.

These castles are built as the builder may list-
They are sometimes of marble or stone,
But they mostly consist
Of east wind and mist
With an ivy of froth overgrown.

A beautiful castle our Dana shall raise
On a futile foundation of hope,
And its glories shall blaze
In the somnolent haze
Of the mythical lake del y Soap.

The fragrance of sunflowers shall swoon on the air
And the visions of Dreamland obtain,
And the song of 'World's Fair'
Shall be heard everywhere
Through that beautiful castle in Spain.

poem by Eugene Field
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The restaurant chefs in Spain are breaking ground, but in terms of the everyday cooking in Spain I still hear people coming back and saying they were disappointed. I think it's because they're expecting the chef stuff.

quote by Sally Schneider
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gil, the Toreador

THE QUEEN sat in her balcony,
The Loveliest of Spain;
Beneath rode all the chivalry,
And roses fell like rain
To crown the gallant gentlemen
The gonfalon who bore:
A woman’s favor fell for one,—
Gil, the Toreador.

Beneath the royal canopy,
To see the red bull slain,
They sat, like loyal lovers,
The King and Queen of Spain.
Came marshal, noble, knight and squire,
Chulo and picador:
Of all a woman saw but one,—
Gil, the Toreador.

The trumpets clanged, the sport was on,
The royal sport of Spain;
Maddened by shouts and thrust of lance
The bull now charged amain:
Down to their death went chulos then,
And many a matador:—
A woman only knew there fell
Gil, the Toreador.

When through the streets of proud Madrid
Swept next the courtly train,
Sat not upon her balcony
The Loveliest of Spain.
Long live the King and his fair Queen,
Still loyal thousands roar:—
None know what woman died when fell
Gil, the Toreador.

poem by Charles Harper Webb
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Spanish Caravan

Carry me caravan take me away
Take me to portugal, take me to spain
Andalusia with fields full of grain
I have to see you again and again
Take me, spanish caravan
Yes, I know you can
Trade winds find galleons lost in the sea
I know where treasure is waiting for me
Silver and gold in the mountains of spain
I have to see you again and again
Take me, spanish caravan
Yes, I know you can

song performed by by Doors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am not quite sure where home is right now. I do have places in London and Milan, and a house in Spain. I guess I would say home is where my mother is, and she lives in Spain.

quote by Sarah Brightman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There was an Old Person of Spain,
Who hated all trouble and pain;
So he sat on a chair,
With his feet in the air,
That umbrageous Old Person of Spain.

quote by by Edward Lear
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Boneheads Bank Holiday

You know I need a little break
To get away for a holiday
So I can see the sun
Cos in the sun they say its fun
If you can get some
Well I could take a train or a boat or an aeroplane
Or I could steal a car
Cos in a car you can go far
Just depends on what kind of car you are
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
What kind of car you are
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
I met a funny looking girl
On a crowded beach in spain
Her name was avaline
She said she came to spain to have a good time
But she was with her mum
Who had a face like a nun in pain
She said her name was dot
She didnt half talk a lot
I couldnt tell if she was mad or not
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
Dont you know - I should have stayed in england
On my polluted beach - with all my special friends
Dont you know - I should have stayed in england
With my big house and my big car
And all my friend are there at the bar
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
You know I need a little break
To get away for a holiday
So I can see the sun
Cos in the sun they say its fun
If you can get some
Well I could take a train or a boat or an aeroplane
Or I could steal a car
Cos in a car you can go far
It just depends on what kind of car you are
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
What kind of car you are
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

song performed by by Oasis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There are pockets of great food in Spain, but there are also pockets of very mediocre food in Spain, and the same in Morocco and the same in Croatia and the same in Germany and the same in Austria.

quote by Mario Batali
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When I was a Tall Lad

WHEN I was a tall lad with money in my hand,
I'd pots and pans a plenty, and friends about the land.
I'd golden roads in sunshine and silver roads in rain,
And a little gray donkey and a girl out of Spain.

Now I am an old man with rings in my ears,
All too sad for laughter, all too wise for tears.
And the Spanish girl has left me, and the money's coming slow
And the little gray donkey he was lamed long ago.

When I get to heaven where tinkers may be seen,
I'll wear a yellow kerchief and a coat of velveteen,
And out beyond the shining streets I'll take the road again
With a little gray donkey and a girl out of Spain.

poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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Peddling Round the World

When at first in foreign parts
Was her flag unfurled,
England was a Gipsy lass
Peddling round the world.
Sailing on the Spanish Main—
Everywhere you roam—
Peddling in the Persian Gulf
Things she’d made at home.
Peddling round the world,
Peddling round the world—
England was a Gipsy lass
Peddling round the world.
England never wanted war,
Not on land or sea—
Other nations rising up
Couldn’t let her be.
England only wanted peace,
And the ocean’s breath;
So there came, in course of time,
Queen Elizabeth.
Queen Elizabeth—
Queen Elizabeth—
Came a plain, bad-tempered queen,
Called Elizabeth.

Queen Elizabeth, she called
Drake, and Raleigh too—
Essex, Howard, and the rest
Of the pirate crew;
“See what you can do,” she said.
“England’s feeling sick—
If you don’t, I’ll hang you all!
Better do it quick.”
“Better do it quick,” she said—
“Better do it quick”;
And they knew she’d keep her word,
So they did it quick.

Drake and Raleigh sailed away—
(Only Bess they feared)
Cleared the Spanish Main and singed
The King of Spain his beard—
Singed the King of Spain his beard,
And his hair they curled.
England was a Gipsy’s love
Peddling round the world.
Peddling round the world,
Peddling round the world.
England was a Gipsy’s love
Peddling round the world.

Once again, when Cromwell came,
England wanted room;
So he lowered Holland’s tone,
Smashed the Dutchman’s broom.
Sent a message to Algiers;
Made its meaning plain—
On the way they called once more
On the King of Spain.
On the King of Spain—
On the King of Spain:
Called, to jog his memory,
On the King of Spain.

So the years went round and round,
Over hills and flats—
England was a Gipsy wife—
England had her brats;
Peddling in the China Sea,
Far from English ground;
Doing biz with Mrs. Jap—
Peddling all around.
Peddling all around—
Peddling all around;
Making friends with Mrs. Jap—
Peddling all around.

When the war is past and gone,
With its blood and tears;
And the world may count upon
Peace for fifty years—
When the gory battle-flags
Round their sticks are furled—
Then you’ll see a Gipsy crone
Peddling round the world.
Peddling round the world—
Peddling round the world.
Then you’ll see a Gipsy crone
A-peddling round the world!
Shawl as old as Joseph’s coat,
Hair as white as snow,
Mind as bright as Seventeen—
Eyes still like the sloe—
Peddling in the Southern Seas—
Everywhere you roam—
And she’ll fill her baskets here
With things we’ll make at home.
Things we’ll make at home—
Things we’ll make at home—
Call to fill her baskets here
With things we’ll make at HOME.

poem by Henry Lawson
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Seville

My Pa and Ma their honeymoon
Passed in an Andulasian June,
And though produced in Drury Lane,
I must have been conceived in Spain.
Now having lapsed from fair estate,
A coster's is my sorry fate;
Yet on my barrow lo! I wheel
The golden harvest of Saville.

"Sweet Spanish oranges!" I cry.
Ah! People deem not as they buy,
That in a dream a steel guitar
I strum beside the Alcázar,
And at the Miralda I meet
A signorita honey sweet,
And stroll beneath the silver moon
Like Pa and Ma that magic June.

Alack-a-day! I fear I'll never
Behold the golden Guadalquivir;
Yet here in Brixton how I feel
My spiritual home's Saville;
And hold the hope that some day I
Will visit there, if just to die;
Feeling I have not lived in vain
To crown my days in sunny Spain.

poem by Robert William Service
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What Spain Was Like

Spain was a taut, dry drum-head
Daily beating a dull thud
Flatlands and eagle's nest
Silence lashed by the storm.
How much, to the point of weeping, in my soul
I love your hard soil, your poor bread,
Your poor people, how much in the deep place
Of my being there is still the lost flower
Of your wrinkled villages, motionless in time
And your metallic meadows
Stretched out in the moonlight through the ages,
Now devoured by a false god.

All your confinement, your animal isolation
While you are still conscious
Surrounded by the abstract stones of silence,
Your rough wine, your smooth wine
Your violent and dangerous vineyards.

Solar stone, pure among the regions
Of the world, Spain streaked
With blood and metal, blue and victorious
Proletarian Spain, made of petals and bullets
Unique, alive, asleep - resounding.

poem by Pablo Neruda
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Kill or Skill?

Spain had a skill.
South Korea had the kill
They played, clashed
In the Korean Soil,
In front of forty thousands
Spectators, in the Quarter
Final of 2002 World Cup
Foot Ball tournament.
Korea beat Spain
By penalty kick.
Kill is stronger than skill
22.06.2002, pakd

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Blues Run The Game

Catch a boat to England, baby,
Maybe to Spain
Wherever I have gone,
Wherever I've been and gone
Wherever I have gone
The blues run the game
Send out for whiskey, baby,
Send out for gin
Me and room service, honey
Me and room service, babe
Me and room service, whoa
Living life a sin
When I ain't drinking, baby
You are on my mind
When I ain't sleeping, honey
When I ain't sleeping, momma
When I ain't sleeping, whoa
You know you'll find me crying
Catch a boat to England, baby,
Maybe to Spain
Wherever I have gone,
Wherever I've been and gone
Wherever I have gone
The blues run the game
Living is a gamble, baby
Loving's much the same
Wherever I have played
Wherever I throw those dice
Wherever I have played
The blues run the game
Maybe when I'm older, baby
Someplace down the line
I'll wake up older
So much older, momma
Wake up older
And I'll just stop all my trying
Catch a boat to England, baby,
Maybe to Spain
Wherever I have gone,
Wherever I've been and gone
Wherever I have gone
The blues are all the same

song performed by by Simon & Garfunkel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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El Lute

This is the story of el lute
A man who was born to be hunted like a wild animal
Because he was poor
But he refused to accept his fate
And today his honor has been restored
He was only nineteen
And he was sentenced to die
For something that somebody else did
And blamed on el lute
Then they changed it to life
And so he could escape
From then on they chased him
And searched for him day and night
All over spain
But the search was in vain for el lute
He had only seen the dark side of life
The man they called el lute
And he wanted a home just like you and like me
In a country where all would be free
So he taught himself to read and to write
It didnt help el lute
He was one who had dared to escape overnight
They had to find el lute
Soon the fame of his name
Spread like wild fire all over the land
With a price on his head
People still gave him bread
And they gave him a hand
For they knew he was right
And his fight was their fight
No one gave you a chance
In the spain of those days
On the walls every place they had put up
The face of el lute
And he robbed where he could just like once robin hood
They finally caught him and
That seemed the end
But they caught him in vain
Cause a change came for spain
And el lute
He had only seen the dark side of life
The man they called el lute
And he wanted a home just like you and like me
In a country where all would be free
And then freedom really came to his land
And also to el lute
Now he walks in the light of a sunny new day
The man they called el lute

song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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