With your fair head in the shadow Of that grass-hat's glancing brim, Like a daisy in a meadow Which its own deep fringes dim. O you laugh,—you cry "What folly!" Yet you'd scarcely have me wise, But look down now, o'er the city Half the town up: its unwinking And one pictures those strange men so!— Creep up slow the stately hillside Where the shore of bright white villas And the gold-rimmed mountain widths. 446 All transfused in slumbrous glory, And the land looks fresh: the yellow For the Tramontana last week Was about; 't is scarce three weeks Since the snow lay, one white vast streak, Upon those old purple peaks So to-day among the grasses One may pick up tens and twelves Of young olives, as one passes, Blown about, and by themselves Blackening sullen-ripe. The corn too Some of white, some crimson, others And the small wild pinks from tender While above them burns, on slender Stems, the red gladiolus. And the grapes are green: this season O that night of purple weather! (Just before the moon had set) You remember how together We walked home? the grass was wet. The long grass in the Poderé With the balmy dew among it: And that nightingale-the fairy Song he sung-O how he sung it! And the fig-trees had grown heavy, And the fire-flies, bevy on bevy Of soft sparkles, pouring fully Their warm life through trance on trances Through some rich and pensive mind. So we reached the loggia. Leaning Hoarsely through the cypress alley A civetta out of tune Tried his voice by fits. The valley Lay all dark below the moon. Until into song you burst out,— Well! . . . if things had gone less wildly- And been patient—and learned more Of how men should live in London- I ... but what's the use of thinking? Of warm songs that spread and eddy— Now he picks up heart-and draws His great music, slow and steady, To a silver-centred pause! Jorge Mar Donald LONGING. My heart is full of inarticulate pain, Wise in success, well read in feeble books, Beloved, who love beauty and fair truth! Come nearer me; too near ye cannot come; Give me your souls to breathe in, a large room; O all wide places, far from feverous towns! Great shining seas! pine forests! mountains wild! Rock-bosomed shores! rough heaths! and sheep-cropt downs! Vast pallid clouds! blue spaces undefiled! Room! give me room! give loneliness and air! Free things and plenteous in your regions fair. |