From mountain peaks back to the Catalan capital,
'Twas but an excursion, be there little more to tell,
A pretty little diversion, 'tis a habit of mine,
To drift from my theme from time to time.
Here amongst galleries and bars canst be seen,
Plenty of life liv'd by whom to the left dost lean,
Once before I attempted to poesy in Spanish,
Yet captur'd not "el sentido" so I'll translate it to English.
I know as well as most how pitifully frail,
Words canst seem whence to o'er languages they trail,
Too far from meaning, couldst Arthur hath follow'd the grail?
If to romantic Français those words were not nail'd?
Although try as I might -set to my purpose,
A writers in trouble, not bad but the worst!
Ne'er a phrase spoken e'er 'twas heard,
Ano’er pen us’d up! Now I've forgotten my words!
Hispania Citerior here words hath little intention,
To be seen 'though sparse be their cantación,
'Tis hard to tell who will do what,
When waiting for others seemeth now thy lot!
So back to that rhyme I once tried to write,
In the Spanish tongue with which I doth fight,
And recount once agen what came to pass,
"¡El verano pasado!" That summer! The last!
'Tis of the summer time I speaketh now,
And to nights fleeting passage, I know not how,
That below those sands of the Barceloneta,
Toes so smoothly unfetter'd grind one upon o'er!
Somehow between these extremities,
Of dirt and beauty's infirmities,
Without thy worries of what wouldst soon come,
Sweet and slowly, the waves there didst belong.
Howe'er like always be the sense of time spent,
Bitter to the touch, taste and scent!
Which permits thee not live life so long,
Rather brief moments set to cheap song!
There didst he weep and she too,
In a wet and sandy embrace, "me & you",
The place 'twas a space that couldst not fill,
The feelings of emptiness that haunted them still.
They liv'd there once happily in that way,
Still 'tis but hard just now to actually say,
Of a shambolic girl he once didst know,
And for a brief time hand in hand didst they go.
In that epoch of vice and ill repute,
Inseparable they seem'd -this point don't dispute,
That by those waters of grand force,
They liv'd awhile 'till time had led its course.
Those quickly passing moments canst but show,
How little didst thou ne'er bemoan,
And onward 'till their paths once agen wouldst cross,
Yet beyond the moment! Feelings! Tragically lost!
Sat in the sand, heads back reclin'd,
Or walk thee well by the wide streets to find,
Couples hand in hand, lip clasp'd on lip,
In each dark corner solitude doth grip!
To follow the beat of thy fast pounding heart,
And find there thy bliss a passionate art,
That runs yet slowly... delay! Don't depart!
'Till from those waters into sorrow you'll dart!
Los aguas lack depth yet in them thou art lost,
There thy heart thrown away! A terrible cost!
Los aguas lack purity yet in them thou art lost,
In that filth the heat rises! Unluckily cross'd!