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Cordoba

 

I long for the gardens at Cordoba

Where the maidens weep like morning roses

And the sun never rises without gilding

The clouds with the colors of red roses

Where the tears that fall from paradisal skies

Are the tears that quench Cordoba’s roses.

 

In the fairy gardens at Cordoba

I heard ancient moors sing of maidens meek

With cheeks soft like the rose’s calyx

Soft life the sides of Dian’s cheek

Where from golden braids are blooming roses

As the music softly reddens their cheek.

 

In those gardens blooming with myrtle

Troubadours sang of a love so true

As their lute strings bloomed with couplets of jasmine

Garlanding our thoughts with Beauty true

True like the maidens with garlands of myrtle

In blooming gardens with romance and virtue.

 

I yearn for the gardens at Cordoba

Where the maiden’s tears fall from morning roses

And the sun never sets without gilding

The clouds with her ambrosial roses

Where tears that fall from Arcadian skies

Are the tears that quench Cordoba’s roses.

 

Even enemies praise Cordoba’s roses

And faraway kings suspect that in those gardens

Hecate roams and haunts Andalusian groves

As she roams through Cordoba’s gardens

Where the buds of beauty know no winter

But ever dwell in perpetual gardens.

 

Minarets climb Cordoba’s stairless skies

Conversing with the peaks of heaven high

Where the Houris’ sighs are carried on the air

And blown through the gardens from heaven high

Where the crystal diadems of Andalusian peaks

Reach into heaven where the Houris sigh.

 

I still can hear the moor signing his songs

Singing of a cheek so white and pale and meek

As the sun kisses them with his gentle rays

Mirroring Diana’s soft pale cheek

Which stalks us like the moon in daylight;

A cheek now so pale and white and bleak.

 

Faraway kings sing with their tattered lute

Of the roses and gardens at Cordoba

Where now a teary eyed phoenix helpless weeps

Yearning for the gardens at Cordoba

Like a desert rose under envious sun

Longing for the gardens at Cordoba.

 

I remember well those Cordovan gardens

Where the lines and couplets of a mortal’s tongue

Could vanquish the feuds of warlike foes

Where feuds were sundered with an angel’s tongue

Vanquishing enemies with Beauty’s praises

Where feuds were conquered with a golden tongue.

 

How I long for the gardens at Cordoba

Where the maidens weep like morning roses

And the sun never rises without gilding

The clouds with the red hue of roses

Where the tears that fall from Paradisal skies

Are the tears that quench Cordoba’s roses.