Cicely Fox Smith

A Castle in Spain

On a hill-top brown it stands:
One side, open tablelands
    Stretch to meet the sky:
On the other, winding dales,
Prospects fair of hills and vales
    All unfolded lie.

And within are colonnades;
Cool, dim aisles whose groin'd roof shades
    From the noontide ray.
Silent courts and echoing halls
Where a fountain calls and calls
    All the night and day.

And a tower my castle crowns,
Looking over breezy downs,
    Uplands broad and free,
With its casements small and quaint
Open to the murmurs faint
    Of the distant sea.

Best of all the dark alcove
With its view of park and grove:
    Where the hum of bees
Floats into the low-ceil'd room
With the roses' sweet perfume
    Borne upon the breeze.

And the gardens, fair and wide,
Stretch upon the sunny side
    Many a terrace-ledge.
Yew-walks, ghostly, grey, and dim:
Ordered lawns and flower-beds trim,
    To the streamlet's edge.

Such my castle in the air:
Yet I doubt if half so fair,
    Were it true, 'twould seem.
Beauteous is, yet not so dear
As the world we live in here,
    That of which I dream.