Classic Poem

In the old cathedral of Salamanca

Headquarters robust, strong Salmantina ,
tomb of souls, hard strength,
soles ever saw
gild your tower.

Within you sprouted prayers
which aspiring green palms to the sky
and falling rebound
from your vaults.

This home was once the city;
here offering to take up the host,
with bent fronts
and kneeling,

still trembling arms fight
against the infidel, felt the villains
on their chests ardidos
birth homeland.

But today you flee the crowd
and only each other, without looking,
seek solace in you
or perhaps shade.

Temple worship fleeced by a long
that brush and throws himself on a thistle,
after fallow calls
new crop.

Only the curious mob your peace,
I lecturing styles between your ships
ponders your columns
elephantine.

It breaks the silence of the street
live din and clatter of mobs
It is Psalm Village
that rises free.

Free berroquena hood
berroquena faith that what embozara,
Free liturgy
free of dogma.

Oh shroud of stone and bones and
you kept the dead are dust
by sweeping blow
the Holy Spirit!

They no temple while you without faithful
faith and empty your house homeless
the new faith that blindly
pushes people.

In your ships dead silence, and cold,
and in the streets, without vaults and arches
heat, sound of life
born of faith.

The ancient basilicas, the royal
rooms citizen justice
brindaronle its factory
Word of worship.

And the Holy Spirit in the village
will embody the Redeemer of the nations,
Where will he find basilica
regia venue?

May God Salamanca old headquarters
the people fill your chest robust,
flourish in your altars
a new cult,

and your beautiful Byzantine dome
be moved to feel her breast
Rises hearing in Psalm
the Marseillaise.