| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Recalled | | By Joseph Andrew Galahad |
| | | YOU see it not…? This Rose of Rhone | |
| Has something of the flow | |
| Of light—like a liquid lacquer on the wall. | |
| And old Madrid—I swear, it shone | |
| More with your light, your glow, | 5 |
| Than that of the sun. Why do your eyelids fall? | |
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| You hear it not…? The Prado was | |
| A sweeping meadow then: | |
| The swing of the tunes of time was in your tone. | |
| No dream comes to you now because | 10 |
| You hear my voice again— | |
| No dream of a youth you passed at dusk alone? | |
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| Three hundred years…! you mark them not? | |
| And yet—you loved me then, | |
| Who now in the light of mullioned windows stand. | 15 |
| And it is you who have forgot | |
| That once, O sought of men!— | |
| When I was the king of Spain I kissed your hand. | | | | |
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