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 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
PORTO FINO
I know a girl—she is a poet's daughter,
And many-mooded as a poet's day,
And changing as the Mediterranean water;
We walked together by an emerald bay,
And many-mooded as a poet's day,
And changing as the Mediterranean water;
We walked together by an emerald bay,
So deep, so green, so promontory-hidden
That the lost mariner might peer in vain
Through storms, to find where he erewhile had ridden,
Safe-sheltered from the wild and windy main.
That the lost mariner might peer in vain
Through storms, to find where he erewhile had ridden,
Safe-sheltered from the wild and windy main.
Down the high stairs we clambered just to rest a
Cool moment in the church's antique shade.
How gay the aisles and altars! 'T was the festa
Of brave Saint George who the old dragon laid.
Cool moment in the church's antique shade.
How gay the aisles and altars! 'T was the festa
Of brave Saint George who the old dragon laid.
How bright the little port! The red flags fluttered,
Loud clanged the bells, and loud the children's glee;
What tho' some distant, unseen storm-cloud muttered,
And waves breathed big along the weedy quay.
Loud clanged the bells, and loud the children's glee;
What tho' some distant, unseen storm-cloud muttered,
And waves breathed big along the weedy quay.
We climbed the hill whose rising cleaves asunder
Green bay and blue immeasurable sea;
We heard the breakers at its bases thunder;
We heard the priests' harsh chant soar wild and free.
Green bay and blue immeasurable sea;
We heard the breakers at its bases thunder;
We heard the priests' harsh chant soar wild and free.
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Then through the graveyard's straight and narrow portal
Our journey led. How dark the place! How strange
Its steep, black mountain wall—as if the immortal
Spirit could thus be stayed its skyward range!
Our journey led. How dark the place! How strange
Its steep, black mountain wall—as if the immortal
Spirit could thus be stayed its skyward range!
Beyond, the smoky olives clothed the mountains
In green that grew through many a moonlit night.
Below, down cleft and chasm leapt snowy fountains;
Above, the sky was warm, and blue, and bright;
In green that grew through many a moonlit night.
Below, down cleft and chasm leapt snowy fountains;
Above, the sky was warm, and blue, and bright;
When, sudden, from out a fair and smiling heaven
Burst forth the rain, quick as a trumpet-blare;
Yet still the Italian sun each drop did leaven,
And turned the rain to diamonds in the air.
Burst forth the rain, quick as a trumpet-blare;
Yet still the Italian sun each drop did leaven,
And turned the rain to diamonds in the air.
So past the day in shade, and shower, and sun,
Like thine own moods, thou sweet and changeful maiden!
Great Heaven! deal kindly with this gentle one,
Nor let her soul too heavily be laden.
Like thine own moods, thou sweet and changeful maiden!
Great Heaven! deal kindly with this gentle one,
Nor let her soul too heavily be laden.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |