I stand on a rocky headland
Far out in the deep blue main,
And only its tremulous splendor
Lies between me and Spain.
Behind me the pine-tree forest,
Singing the old refrain;
Before, the exulting billows
And the far dreamland of Spain.
On the red rocks dash the breakers;
Their spray is a blinding rain;
My hair is wet with the sea-foam,
But the wind blows straight from Spain.
Hark to the roar and the tumult
And the cries like a soul in pain!
But beyond is the calm and the silence,
And the beautiful land of Spain.
Afar, on the dim horizon,
I watch with a yearning vain
Yon fair ship gallantly sailing
Straight on to the ports of Spain.
And it’s oh, for the splendid castles,
And the light on tower and fane,
And the mystical, magical glory
Of the marvellous realm of Spain!
Night falls on the rocky headland
As day and its splendors wane,
While o’er the dark waters the moonlight
Is building a bridge to Spain.
But I think with an infinite longing
Of the hopes that no longer reign,
Of the dreams that are past fulfilment,
Unless on thy shores, O Spain!