|
Granada, tierra soñada por mí,
mi cantar se vuelve gitano
cuando es para ti.
Mi cantar, hecho de fantasía,
mi cantar, flor de melancolía,
que yo te vengo a dar.
Granada, tierra ensangrentada
en tardes de toros,
mujer que conserva el embrujo
de los ojos moros.
De sueño, rebelde, gitana
cubierta de flores,
y beso tu boca de grana,
jugosa manzana
que me habla de amores.
Granada, manola, cantada
en coplas preciosas,
no tengo otra cosa que darte
que un ramo de rosas,
de rosas de suave fragancia
que le dieran marco a la Virgen morena.
Granada, tu tierra está llena
de lindas mujeres, de sangre y de sol.
|
Granada, land of my dreams,
my song becomes like a gypsy song
when I sing it for you.
My song, made of fantasy,
my song, flower of melancholy,
which I have come to give to you.
Granada, land bloodstained
in bullfighting afternoons,
women who have kept the enchantment
of Moorish eyes.
Rebel gypsy of my dreams
covered in flowers,
and I kiss your lips of scarlet
like a juicy apple,
that talks to me of love.
Granada, praised in couplets
of precious rhyme,
I have nothing to give you
but a bouquet of roses,
softly fragrant roses that could
make a frame for the black Virgin.
Granada, land full of
beautiful women, of blood and of sun.
|
|
|
Granada, tierra soñada por mí,
mi ___________ se vuelve gitano
cuando es para ti.
Mi cantar, hecho de fantasía,
mi cantar, _________ de melancolía,
que yo te __________ a dar.
Granada, tierra ensangrentada
en tardes de ___________,
mujer que conserva el embrujo
de los _____________ moros.
De __________, rebelde, gitana
cubierta de flores,
y __________ tu boca de grana,
jugosa ___________
que me ___________ de amores.
Granada, manola, cantada
en coplas preciosas,
no tengo otra __________ que darte
que un ramo de ____________,
de rosas de suave fragancia
que le dieran marco a la Virgen ____________.
Granada, tu tierra está llena
de lindas _________, de sangre y de _______....
|
Granada, land of my dreams,
my song becomes like a gypsy song
when I sing it for you.
My song, made of fantasy,
my song, flower of melancholy,
which I have come to give to you.
Granada, land bloodstained
in bullfighting afternoons,
women who have kept the enchantment
of Moorish eyes.
Rebel gypsy of my dreams
covered in flowers,
and I kiss your lips of scarlet
like a juicy apple,
that talks to me of love.
Granada, praised in couplets
of precious rhyme,
I have nothing to give you
but a bouquet of roses,
softly fragrant roses that could
make a frame for the black Virgin.
Granada, land full of
beautiful women, of blood and of sun.
| |
No comments:
Post a Comment