Do you remember an Inn,
Miranda?
Do you remember an Inn?
And the tedding and the spreading
Of the straw for a bedding,
And the fleas that tease in the High Pyrenees,
And the wine that tasted of tar?
And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers
(Under the vine of the dark verandah)?
Do you remember an Inn, Miranda,
Do you remember an Inn?
And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteeers
Who hadn't got a penny,
And who weren't paying any,
And the hammer at the doors and the Din?
And the Hip! Hop! Hap!
Of the clap
Of the hands to the twirl and the swirl
Of the girl gone chancing,
Glancing,
Dancing,
Backing and advancing,
Snapping of a clapper to the spin
Out and in --
And the Ting, Tong, Tang, of the Guitar.
Do you remember an Inn,
Miranda?
Do you remember an Inn?
- Never more;
- Miranda,
- Never more.
- Only the high peaks hoar:
- And Aragon a torrent at the door.
- No sound
- In the walls of the Halls where falls
- The tread
- Of the feet of the dead to the ground
- No sound:
- But the boom
- Of the far Waterfall like Doom.
Friday, 29 April 2016
Canfranc
Hilaire Belloc, Tarantella, 1929
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I love Belloc's poem, Tarantella. The fleas in the high Pyrenees would have to be hardy creatures though, judging by the cool air captured in your photos.
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