Above Spanish groves of chestnut, cork and fir
Out of earshot of the wild river choirs
On a plateau in fine old Moorish digs
There’s a girl who dreams of me alone
(Nothing blooms there at all
Portraits of the dead line every wall)
Our love was through the eyes – ferociously inferred
An unsung theorem interred in minds afire
Then she came to me trampling on fractured twigs
Hoarse and golden, she begged me to go
On those days when the black wind blows
Something needs doing but nobody knows
All things cry Olalla
(Nothing blooms there at all
Portraits of the dead line every wall)
Our final hour found me bleeding on the floor
Sprawled upon the broken glass like a sailor sick ashore
She snatched me up, patched me up, packed me out the door
Have your way Olalla
All things cry Olalla
