It must have been Spain’s year-long spring
That gave my winter’d fancies wing;
And brought to life a long-lost love
That these had come to brood above.
How throbb’d my heart to see once more
That face, that form, that friend of yore!
Again my arms were round that neck;
And cheek to cheek without a check
Our souls had met. O Love, long cold,
What frame could hope to feel, when old
And numb from long bound loads of pain,
Such warmth and life thrill every vein!
The gone delight was all too dear.
With heart aglow, as dawn drew near,
To him who slept amid the past,
A Spanish sky seem’d overcast.