Granada

Granada, fair jewel of the earth, tell me why mine heart did fall for thee, even from the first hour mine eyes beheld thy grace. Thou didst seize my soul with sudden flame, a spell that pierceth deep and leaveth no escape, though I strive against it. O sprite of Nasrid blood!
Thou art the fairest of all realms; the stars themselves do envy thee. From Orient unto Occident, no land may boast such glory, nor covet thy sun, thy mountains proud, thy heaven azure, thy moon serene, thy folk and thy boundless sea.
Tell me, hath Time forgot thee? Nay, thou dost still treasure all thy splendor, as when Boabdil, the hapless king, did seek to bind thy heart. Yet none may captivate thee, for whosoever tries is made a thrall unto thy majesty.
Thou art a queen of Moorish grace; each day mine thoughts do dwell on thee. I, a poor captive, prisoner to thy will, do yearn to return unto thy side and be thy faithful mate till death shall claim us.
O Gardens of Generalife! Thy fountains breathe sweet waters, and the scent of jasmine calleth forth glad memories of days long fled. Where art thou now, my sultana? I pine to behold thee each morn, yet thou art gone.
Nasrid Palace! Thou that dost enclose within thy walls the one that was my love—release her from her cruel cell! She deserveth not such harsh doom; grant me but one more sight of her.
Alcazaba fortress! Thou that keepest watch with steadfast eyes, whisper unto Morayma that I forget her not. From Albaicín I raise my song at every dawn, a hymn of longing.

“Granada”
O peerless queen that reigns by mountain’s crest,
Thy beauty binds the soul with magic chain;
From eastern dawn unto the western west,
No star nor sun may match thy proud domain.
Thy hills do wear the robes of emerald hue,
Thy skies outshine the sapphire of the deep;
Thy moon doth bathe the towers in silver dew,
While jasmine winds through gardens soft asleep.
Though Boabdil did seek thy heart to claim,
Thy spirit soared beyond his fleeting power;
No mortal hand may bind so bright a flame,
Nor dim the glory of thy Nasrid tower.
Yet I, poor thrall, do live in sorrow’s shade,
Till death unites us where no chains are made.