看哪!他们在宫殿庭院门前升起的西班牙国旗;两百名耐心的人在一旁等待。虽然乐手勇敢地奏着圣歌，丝绸的纹章却显得迟缓;两百人肃然观看——但只有两个人向国旗敬礼。那两个人衣冠楚楚，举止傲慢，就像古时的黑袍，他们骄傲地向那高扬的大旗举起手掌。其他人阴沉地、冷酷地看着他们;他们不是愁眉苦脸的无产阶级，而是衣冠楚楚的中产阶级，他们似乎过着体面安逸的生活。然后他们悲伤地面面相觑，叹了口气，耸耸肩，转身离去。他们窒息的感觉是什么? I wonder, but it's none too gay. And as with puzzlement I bide me, Beneath that rich, resplendent rag, I hear a bitter voice beside me: "It isn't ours - it's Franco's flag. "I'm Right: I have no Left obsession. I hate the Communists like hell, But after ten years of oppression I hate our Franco twice as well. And hush! I keep (do not reprove me) His portrait in a private place, And every time my bowels move me I - spit in El Caudillo's face." These were the words I heard, I swear, But when I turned around to stare, Believe me - there was no one there.