Nonfiction > E.C. Stedman & E.M. Hutchinson, eds. > A Library of American Literature > 1835–1860
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Stedman and Hutchinson, comps.  A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes.  1891.
Vols. VI–VIII: Literature of the Republic, Part III., 1835–1860
 
Segovia and Madrid
By Rose Terry Cooke (1827–1892)
 
[From Poems. Collective Edition. 1888.]

IT sings to me in sunshine,
It whispers all day long,
My heart-ache like an echo
Repeats the wistful song:
Only a quaint old love-lilt,        5
Wherein my life is hid,—
“My body is in Segovia,
But my soul is in Madrid!”
 
I dream, and wake, and wonder,
For dream and day are one,        10
Alight with vanished faces,
And days forever done.
They smile and shine around me
As long ago they did;
For my body is in Segovia,        15
But my soul is in Madrid!
 
Through inland hills and forests
I hear the ocean breeze,
The creak of straining cordage,
The rush of mighty seas,        20
The lift of angry billows
Through which a swift keel slid;
For my body is in Segovia,
But my soul is in Madrid.
 
Oh fair-haired little darlings        25
Who bore my heart away!
A wide and woful ocean
Between us rolls to-day;
Yet am I close beside you
Though time and space forbid;        30
My body is in Segovia,
But my soul is in Madrid.
 
If I were once in heaven,
There would be no more sea;
My heart would cease to wander,        35
My sorrows cease to be;
My sad eyes sleep forever,
In dust and daisies hid,
And my body leave Segovia.
—Would my soul forget Madrid?        40
 
 
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