¿Quién no escribe para gustar a las mujeres? - Lord Byron

The stars are forth, the moon above the tops Of the snow-shining mountains. Beautiful! I linger yet with Nature, for the Night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man; and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness, I learn'd the language of another world.

¡Oh, bella, admirada España, romántico país ¿Dónde está aquella bandera que Pelayo enarboló?

Whose game was empires and whose stakes were thrones,
Whose table earth, whose dice were human bones.