Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
RecalledJoseph Andrew Galahad
Y
Has something of the flow
Of light—like a liquid lacquer on the wall.
And old Madrid—I swear, it shone
More with your light, your glow,
Than that of the sun. Why do your eyelids fall?
A sweeping meadow then:
The swing of the tunes of time was in your tone.
No dream comes to you now because
You hear my voice again—
No dream of a youth you passed at dusk alone?
And yet—you loved me then,
Who now in the light of mullioned windows stand.
And it is you who have forgot
That once, O sought of men!—
When I was the king of Spain I kissed your hand.