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Sara Teasdale - To A Castillan Song
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We held the book together timidly, 
Whose antique music in an alien tongue 
Once rose among the dew-drenched vines that hung 
Beneath a high Castilian balcony. 
I felt the lute strings` ancient ecstasy, 
And while he read, my love-filled heart was stung, 
And throbbed, as where an ardent bird has clung 
The branches tremble on a blossomed tree. 
Oh lady for whose sake the song was made, 
Laid long ago in some still cypress shade, 
Divided from the man who longed for thee, 
Here in a land whose name he never heard, 
His song brought love as April brings the bird, 
And not a breath divides my love from me!
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