Ere long across the marble court Soft laughter rang and calls of sport, And maidens pass’d the entering gate, Whose voices rose in sweet debate, So clear, so pure, they might have sprung From moonlight, not from mortal tongue. I lay there charm’d, my eyelids closed, My limbs enchain’d; but, ere I dozed, Gave one look more. Alas for me! The moon had moved, and made me see, In dreamlike light where slept the day, Vague forms that join’d those maids at play. They linger’d there, half hid by trees And sprawling cactus; now at ease, Now whirling off in shadowy sets Where urged guitars[2] and castonets.[2] Anon, this music rose and fell, As if, because, all fill’d so well, So laden down with sweets before, The languid air could hold no more. “Ah, how could it or I?” I thought; “This land of lasting spring is fraught With charms that pale by living truth The brightest dreams that lured my youth.” Then, while the music heaved my breast, The thought it cradled sank to rest. III. I slept and dreamt. To you it seems No censor, swung to souls in dreams Before the mind’s most holy shrine, Rear’d there to memories most divine, Could incense hold whose fumes could rise And dim what bless’d my closing eyes. You think my soul most surely thought Of Cordova in dreams it brought. You think that once again it calms My mood to watch beneath the palms The ancient river[3] freshly lave Rome’s ruined bridge[3] that naught could save. You think, once more, my wonder wends Across that orange-court[4] and bends In that cathedral-mosk,[5] in which A thousand[5] shafts with sculptures rich Surround the soul like ghosts of trees Beyond the touch of time or breeze, While all the shafts to all bespeak, In jasper, porphyry, verdantique, The skill that train’d their artist’s hand In grand old times that blest this land Before the Moor’s glad suns had set On days that earth can ne’er forget. Nay, nay, I dreamt with joy intense, But did not heed a hint from thence. IV.