I hastened homeward through the twilight lone While on my lips your kisses stung like flame, Burning to purest white the rose of shame That leaped between us, scarlet lipped, full blown; Within my ears your Spanish speech made moan; I saw nor mud, mist, gray, wet streets; there came As in a vision, Spain of splendid name. Your castle in Love’s Land—there, we, alone! Gone! Gone! Here by the window now I wait For him to whom I owe yet give not love; Watching the bird-winged night drop from above, Grouped church spires, like frail hands up-flung to Fate, On windows through which answering night lights chime, I hear the passionless, cold rain of Winter time!…
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