At other times you make me feel the gloom
Of Christian Spain, sepulchral and morose.
You are as the Alhambra when you smile,
Gold-tinted, graceful, radiating joy.
But when you frown or are indifferent,
Then like to the Escurial you are,
Depressing, full of sombreness and chill.
IV
I strolled through lonely by-paths in the park,
It was the hour, it was the mystic hour,