To a Castilian Song

by Sara Teasedale
We held the book together timidly,
   Whose antique music in an alien tongue
   Once rose among the dew-drenched vines that hung
Beneath a high Castilian balcony.
I felt the lute strings' ancient ecstasy,
   And while he read, my love-filled heart was stung,
   And throbbed, as where an ardent bird has clung
The branches tremble on a blossomed tree.
Oh lady for whose sake the song was made,
Laid long ago in some still cypress shade,
   Divided from the man who longed for thee,
      Here in a land whose name he never heard,
      His song brought love as April brings the bird,
   And not a breath divides my love from me!