ToManual De Santa Maria.The soft strings of a Spanish lute one dayYou struck, and plaintive notes gushed forth like tears.Ravished I listened, and I longed to playThe music to another people's ears.You showed me all the cunning workmanship,The stretching of the strings, the exquisiteAdjustment of the frets, the body's dip;I took the lute and tried to copy it.Well, here it is, re-fashioned and re-strung.Play on it; ah, I fear those sweet, sad airsSound cracked and harsh now, better left unsung.Well, fling the lute aside and take Becquer's!
{{comment.content}}