Gaita galaica, que sabes cantar <br />lo que profundo y dulce nos es. <br />Dices de amor, y dices después <br />de un amargor como el de la mar. <br /> <br />Canta. Es el tiempo. Haremos danzar <br />al fino verso de rítmicos pies. <br />Ya nos lo dijo el Eclesiastés: <br />tiempo hay de todo; hay tiempo para amar; <br /> <br />tiempo de ganar, tiempo de perder, <br />tiempo de plantar, tiempo de coger, <br />tiempo de llorar, tiempo de reír, <br />tiempo de rasgar, tiempo de coser, <br />tiempo de esparcir y de recoger, <br />tiempo de nacer, tiempo de morir… <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />Bagpipes of Spain <br /> <br /> <br />Bagpipes of Spain, ye that can sing <br />That which is sweetest to us in the Spring! <br />You first sing of gladness and then sing of pain <br />As deep and as bitter as the billowed main. <br /> <br />Sing. 'Tis the season! As glad as the rain <br />My verses shall trip ye a jig or a fling. <br />Ecclesiastes said it again and again, <br />All things have their season, O bagpipes of Spain!— <br /> <br />A season to plant, a season to reap: <br />A season to sew, a season to tear; <br />A season to laugh, a season to weep; <br />Seasons for to hope and for to despair; <br />A season to love, a season to mate; <br />A season of birth, a season of Fate…<br /><br />Ruben Dario<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/gaita-galaica-bagpipes-of-spain/
