Soria, in blue mountains,
on the fields of violet,
how often I’ve dreamed of you
on the plain of flowers,
where the Guadalquivi? runs
past golden orange-trees
to the sea.
by Patience Worth
Thus is flesh heir unto decay-
That tabernacle in the desert,
Swept by the ages, an instant's abode
For an utterance of God, which when
Flung forth, burned so mighty a heat,