Treasure Island

Cicely Fox Smith

(1882-1954 / England)

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.

Submitted: Monday, August 30, 2010

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