Spain, Poem by Gérard De Nerval

My sweet land of the Spains,
Who would flee your lovely sky,
Your cities and your mountains,
And your everlasting spring?

Your pure air that makes us drunk,
Your days, less fair than your nights,
Your fields, where God would wish to live
If he left his paradise.

Once your sovereign lady,
Arabia, in fleeing you,
Left upon your royal brow
Her crown of the Orient!

An echo still repeats
To your enchanted shore
The ancient refrain of the Moor:
Glory, love and liberty!

Gérard de Nerval

Translation generated by Poésies 123 with assistance from the deepseek-chat artificial-intelligence model.

Text published on Poésies 123: https://www.poesies123.com/en/poem-spain-gerard-de-nerval/