Iii

You sometime make me dream of fair Granada, Of olden days of Moorish reign and glory; At other times you make me feel the gloom Of Christian Spain, sepulchral and morose.

You are as the Alhambra when you smile, Gold-tinted, graceful, radiating joy. But when you frown or are indifferent, Then like to the Escurial you are, Depressing, full of sombreness and chill.