The Alcázar
Robert William Service 1874 – 1958
The General now lives in town;
He's eighty odd, they say;
You'll see him strolling up and down
The Prada any day.
He goes to every football game,
The bull-ring knows his voice,
And when the people cheer his name
Moscardo must rejoice.
Yet does he, in the gaiety
Of opera and ball,
A dingy little cellar see,
A picture on a wall?
A portrait of a laughing boy
Of sixteen singing years . . .
Oh does his heart dilate with joy,
Or dim his eyes with tears?
And can he hear a wistful lad
Speak on the telephone?
"Hello! How is it with you, Dad?
That's right - I'm all alone.
They say they'll shoot me at the dawn
If you do not give in . . .
But never mind, Dad - carry on:
You know we've got to win."
And so they shot him at the dawn.
No bandage irked his eyes,
A lonely lad, so wistful wan,
He made his sacrifice.
he saw above the Citadel
His flag of glory fly,
And crying: "long live Spain!" he fell
And died as heroes die.
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 57 sec read
- 123 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | ABABCDCD EFXFGXGX EHEHIJKJ IXKXLXLE |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 896 |
Words | 186 |
Stanzas | 4 |
Stanza Lengths | 8, 8, 8, 8 |
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"The Alcázar" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 29 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/32470/the-alcázar>.
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