 | Old Year Leaves |  |
138
GRANADA.
Fair Granada, our masters of the penHave written much of thee, and not a few
Who ne'er have seen thee, hold dream-wrought and fair,
A city in their fancy by thy name
Seen clearly in their mental eyes, as if
'Twere mirrored in their senses. Thus with me;
But when I saw, my fond ideal fell.
It was not that thy famed Alhambra hill
Lacked grandeur, or its silent courts were void
Of architectural wealth, or that the Vega,
Shut in by mountains and the silent snows,
Was aught save fair; yet still the impression stays
Unceasingly within me, caused perchance
By narrow Spanish streets, dull, dirty, white,
139
And fresh-wrought antique work amid the old
In the Alham bra's courts destroy their charm.
| Old Year Leaves | |