One of the great poems of Spain, and summer -- (much more delicious in Spanish, but pretty good in English) --

THE SIESTA

If anyone should ask me, when I reach the secret place: What is the earth?
I would say -- it is a place where it is cold, where the strong man oppresses and the weak man weeps;
and where, like a shadow, injustice goes with open cloak, gathering the rich man's penny and the tragedy of all those past all hope, a craggy place.
But I would also say that at other times when summer arrives,
and countries seem to lie in the somnolence of those not knowing why they are tired,
a blue sky pulsates above, hallucinatory, and fruit succeeds fruit on white tables,
and the great windows, ajar, are cool in the half-light, and we seek a corner where we can give ourselves to that sweet heaviness
-- then indeed I should say that the earth is an irreplaceable good, a happy flowing, an inward prompting.
Like an unprecedented temptation, composed of ardour and temptation, a pleasant immersion, a slow love-potion.
--("Si alguien me preguntara cuando un dia" --Juan Gil-Albert).