Beyond the touch of time or breeze,
While all the shafts to all bespeak,
In jasper, porphyry, verdantique,
The skill that train’d their artist’s hand
In grand old times that blest this land
Before the Moor’s glad suns had set
On days that earth can ne’er forget.
Nay, nay, I dreamt with joy intense,
But did not heed a hint from thence.