In a second she was transformed from the wife of the brown money-master
to the girl she was when she came to St. Saviour's from the plaza, where
her Carvillho Gonzales was shot, with love behind her and memory blazoned
in the red of martyrdom. She sang now as she had not sung for some
years. Her guitar seemed to leap into life, her face shone with the hot
passion of memory, her voice rang with the pain of a disappointed life:
"Granada, Granada, thy gardens are gay,
And bright are thy stars, the high stars above;
But as flowers that fade and are gray,
But as dusk at the end of the day,
Are ye to the light in the eyes of my love
In the eyes, in the soul, of my love.
"Granada, Granada, oh, when shall I see
My love in thy gardens, there waiting for me?
"Beloved, beloved, have pity, and make
Not the sun shut its eyes, its hot, envious eyes,
And the world in the darkness of night
Be debtor to thee for its light.
Turn thy face, turn thy face from the skies
To the love, to the pain in my eyes.
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