Between Cordova and Seville There's a little station where, for no apparent reason, The Southern Express always stops. The traveler vainly looks around for a village Beyond the little station asleep under the eucalyptus trees: He sees only the Andalusian landscape: green and gold. However, right on the other side of the way, There's a hut built of blackened sticks and clay. At the noise of the train a swarm of prattling brats comes out. The older sister comes first, steps forward right to the platform And without a word, but smiling, Dances for pennies we fling. Her feet seem black in the dust, Her dim and dirty face is beautiless; She dances, and through great rents in her ash-colored skirt Are glimpses of her thin, moving thighs And her little yellow belly as it rolls; And invariably some fellows laugh at that, Through their cigar-stench, in the dining-car. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FEARS IN SOLITUDE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 101 by ALFRED TENNYSON THE FRAILTY OF MAN'S LIFE by PHILIP AYRES FAREWELL TO CUBA by MARIA GOWEN BROOKS ON SEEING MISS FONTENELLE IN A FAVOURITE CHARACTER by ROBERT BURNS TO EMMA by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |