My Pa and Ma their honeymoon <br />Passed in an Andulasian June, <br />And though produced in Drury Lane, <br />I must have been conceived in Spain. <br />Now having lapsed from fair estate, <br />A coster's is my sorry fate; <br />Yet on my barrow lo! I wheel <br />The golden harvest of Saville. <br /> <br />"Sweet Spanish oranges!" I cry. <br />Ah! People deem not as they buy, <br />That in a dream a steel guitar <br />I strum beside the Alcázar, <br />And at the Miralda I meet <br />A signorita honey sweet, <br />And stroll beneath the silver moon <br />Like Pa and Ma that magic June. <br /> <br />Alack-a-day! I fear I'll never <br />Behold the golden Guadalquivir; <br />Yet here in Brixton how I feel <br />My spiritual home's Saville; <br />And hold the hope that some day I <br />Will visit there, if just to die; <br />Feeling I have not lived in vain <br />To crown my days in sunny Spain.<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/seville/
