Spain Poor Through the Fault of the Rich

Cursed be those who one day did not look, cursed cursed blind, those who offered the solemn fatherland not bread but tears, cursed sullied uniforms and cassocks of sour, stinking dogs of cave and grave.

Poverty was throughout Spain like horses filled with smoke, like stones fallen from the spring of misfortune, grainlands still unopened, secret storehouses of blue and tin, ovaries, doors, closed arches, depths that tried to give birth, all was guarded by triangular guards with guns, by sad-rat-colored priests, by lackeys of the huge-rumped king.

Tough Spain, land of apple orchards and pines, your idle lords ordered you:

Do not sow the land, do not give birth to mines, do not breed cows, but contemplate the tombs, visit each year the monument of Columbus the sailor, neigh speeches with monkeys come from America, equal in "social position" and in putrefaction.

Do not build schools, do not break open earth's crust with plows, do not fill the granaries with abundance of wheat: pray, beasts, pray, for a god with a rump as huge as the king's rump awaits you: "There you will have soup, my brethren. "