Page:Poems Allen.djvu/222

A fort looks down in silence from the hill,
  Holding its fiery breath,
As loath to mar the peace so sweet and still
  By any thought of death.

The blossomed fruit-trees drape the frowning walls,
  Disputing all their gloom,
And on the pyramids of cannon-balls,
  Drops the white chestnut-bloom.

The mounted guns, all threatening and grim,
  Speak not their thunderous words,—
And in and out among their muzzles skim,
  Unseared, the meadow birds.

In the horizon waits one patient star,
  A sphere of silver white,
While the full moon, above the hill-tops far,
  Slow reddens into sight;

Building across the waves, with golden light,
  A wondrous "road to Spain,"—
But ah! the Alhambra's courts would tempt to-night
  Our charméd eyes in vain!