We were staying (that night) in a very old palace— Very dark, very large, and sheer to the water below. The rooms were silent and strange, and you were frightened: The silver lamp gave a feeble, flickering glow. And the bed had a high dark tester and carved black posts. And behind our heads was a glimmer of old brocade. Do you remember? you thought the shadows were full of ghosts, And the sound of the lapping water made you afraid. Ah, and your face shone pale, in the gleam of that quivering flame! And your bosom was rich with the round pearls row on row; And you looked proud and jewelled, and passionate without shame— Like some Princess who stooped to her lover, a long while ago. 1912. _Barcelona_ A squalid station, tramcars, dusty palms In a great square; and then the surging streets That cut the town in two, where its heart beats. Crowds jostle to and fro, brats cadge for alms, Sell lottery tickets, hand their sister’s card (With her address, nude photograph and hours); Men offer little birds, old women flow’rs; Red-coated guards loaf by; a half-blind bard Drones out stale tunes; and amorous ladies stare (Clad in rich clothes, with very bad black eyes) At men with Brownings bulging at their thighs Who’ll fight for a Republic—when they dare. 1914. _Juillac-le-Coq_ (_Charente_) It’s to Juillac-le-coq, where the vines stretch o’er the plain, And the little streams are running eau-de-vie and the sweet champagne, That I’d take my pipe and smoke it, sitting on some garden wall, And kick my heels and dream my dreams, and never work at all. _For the sun’s bright, and the moon’s bright, and all the women’s eyes_ _Are bright there; and joy’s there, and love that fools despise._ It’s a little dusty village, full of laughing men and girls; At the thought of it my breath comes short, my tired brain spins and whirls. I must tramp along and find it, choose my sunny white-washed wall, And sing my songs, and dream my dreams, and never work at all. _There are vines there, and wines there, and straight, long dazzling ways_ _That shine white, on a fine night, when high the full moon sways._ 1910. _Roads_ Long roads that stretch out hard and white, Long roads that climb into the sky, They haunt me in this London night: I knew them well in days gone by— Knew them and loved them! Bright they shone— They led to that enchanting land, Where all the throneless gods live on And where men go, who understand; Where hills too lovely to be true Rise dazzling, in diviner air, And under heavens for ever blue Love grows to friendship fine and rare. Far from a bitter world of toil They led, those roads of long ago: They climbed the skies to fairy soil, They glittered like a line of snow. 1910. _Envoi_ _Ars Longa_