Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ALHAMBRA SONGS: 3. THE NIGHT OF ALMOND BLOSSOMS, by THOMAS WALSH


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ALHAMBRA SONGS: 3. THE NIGHT OF ALMOND BLOSSOMS, by                    
First Line: The blossoms range their silver tents
Last Line: I swoon amid the dust!
Alternate Author Name(s): Gill, Roderick; Strange, Garrett
Subject(s): Granada, Spain; Night; Bedtime


THE blossoms range their silver tents
At twilight down the tavern lane;
The south wind strays to barter scents
Around no rose in vain.
And see, Belovéd, where the sun
Still waits thy lute's soft laughter,
Although the stars come one by one,
And all the night flocks after.

And now the mule-bells die away,
Each cool posada claims a guest
Who folds his beast and pack away
And gladly turns to rest;
While, hark! without thy mocking gate
Thine ivory castanets I hear,
The while thy master stealing late
Hath gained the pathway near.

Ay, ay di mí! 'tis mine all night
To guard thy moonlit walls and weep,
Till dawn's last toper up the white
Alhambra reels to sleep;
Then from Granada shall I haste
With spurs that bleed at every thrust,
Till mad at noontide in the desert's waste
I swoon amid the dust!





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