 | Sonnets in Switzerland and Italy |  |
86
AT INTERLAKEN
From loud Italia and her echoing streets,
Her ash-grey rivers and her songless plain,
How good to hear the blackbird's jocund strain,
And rest upon your walnut-shadowed seats
Where Bodeli's emerald river brims and fleets
Southward,—to watch the mower pile his wain
Here in your mighty mead, and feel again
The ‘Mountain Maiden’ temper noontide heats.
Her ash-grey rivers and her songless plain,
How good to hear the blackbird's jocund strain,
And rest upon your walnut-shadowed seats
Where Bodeli's emerald river brims and fleets
Southward,—to watch the mower pile his wain
Here in your mighty mead, and feel again
The ‘Mountain Maiden’ temper noontide heats.
Bodeli! the monks who built their house of prayer,
Or round their cloister-meadow set sweet shade,
If e'er they felt their hearts in vain had striven
To break earth-fetters so much beauty made,
Lifted their eyes, and Jungfrau shining fair
Caught up their souls unerringly to Heaven.
Or round their cloister-meadow set sweet shade,
If e'er they felt their hearts in vain had striven
To break earth-fetters so much beauty made,
Lifted their eyes, and Jungfrau shining fair
Caught up their souls unerringly to Heaven.
| Sonnets in Switzerland and Italy | |