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EN ESPAGNE.
I built a Palace, white and high,
With sweeping purple tapestried;
No dusty highway ran thereby,
But guarded alleys to it led;
And shaven lawns about were spread,
Where bird and moth danced daintily.

So gracious were its portals wide,
So light and fair the turrets stood,
No flaw mine eager eye espied,
I fashioned it, and called it good;
And lavished on its solitude
All garnishings of pomp and pride.

That was in golden summer-time;—
The winter-wind is howling now,
My Palace has passed out of time,—
The sward is only sheeted snow,
Its hangings with the dead leaves blow:
There comes an end to mortal prime.