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