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85
AUGUST AFTERNOON IN ROME.
(From the Trastevere)
[To Théodore Roussel]
Dull yellow shot with molten gold
The Tiber flows.
Beneath the walls the flood moves azurely,
With purplish shadows where the bridge
Spans triple-arch'd the stream:
Brown on the hither bank an idle barge,
With tawny sails still damp with spray
Blown from Ligurian seas:
And far, in the middle-flood, adrift, unoar'd,
A narrow boat, swift-moving, black,
Follows the flowing wave like a living thing.
The Tiber flows.
Beneath the walls the flood moves azurely,
With purplish shadows where the bridge
Spans triple-arch'd the stream:
Brown on the hither bank an idle barge,
With tawny sails still damp with spray
Blown from Ligurian seas:
And far, in the middle-flood, adrift, unoar'd,
A narrow boat, swift-moving, black,
Follows the flowing wave like a living thing.
Full-flooded by the sun the houses lie
Across the stream.
Pale pink their walls, or touched to paler blue,
But wanly yellow most, or soft as cream
Brown-curdled in the heat.
Oft, too, the tall facades asleep in the glow,
Are dusk'd by violet shadows, delicate
As the pale sheen of hyacinth-meadows where
The hills are glad with April wandering by.
Enmassed they stand, aglow, asleep:
The green blinds closed, like folded leaves,
Like ivy-leaves close-cluster'd to the pale white bark
Of the tall Austral trees belov'd of those
Who dwell where the Three Fountains rise from deathly soil.
Hot in the yellow glare of the sun they stand,
The myriad houses, with their infinite hues.
Across the stream.
Pale pink their walls, or touched to paler blue,
But wanly yellow most, or soft as cream
Brown-curdled in the heat.
Oft, too, the tall facades asleep in the glow,
Are dusk'd by violet shadows, delicate
86
The hills are glad with April wandering by.
Enmassed they stand, aglow, asleep:
The green blinds closed, like folded leaves,
Like ivy-leaves close-cluster'd to the pale white bark
Of the tall Austral trees belov'd of those
Who dwell where the Three Fountains rise from deathly soil.
Hot in the yellow glare of the sun they stand,
The myriad houses, with their infinite hues.
The green blinds here loom dark:
Here emerald-bright as the young grass that springs
Beneath the blackthorn-blossoms snowing down.
Brown-black the flat bare roofs,
Save where, like floating flower-clouds, gardens glow
High-perch'd mid perilous ravines of wall,
With scarlet, orange, white, and fleeting gold.
In the deserted streets no passer-by
Throws a distorted phantom o'er the way,
Though in the deep-blue shadow-side there drifts
A trickling stream of life.
Dim drowsy silence holds the day, for all
The water-seller sounding hollowly
His Fresca, acqua fresca, fred' e fresc'!
Or melon-merchant shrilling loud and thin
His long fantastic cry.
Here emerald-bright as the young grass that springs
Beneath the blackthorn-blossoms snowing down.
Brown-black the flat bare roofs,
Save where, like floating flower-clouds, gardens glow
High-perch'd mid perilous ravines of wall,
With scarlet, orange, white, and fleeting gold.
In the deserted streets no passer-by
Throws a distorted phantom o'er the way,
Though in the deep-blue shadow-side there drifts
A trickling stream of life.
Dim drowsy silence holds the day, for all
The water-seller sounding hollowly
His Fresca, acqua fresca, fred' e fresc'!
Or melon-merchant shrilling loud and thin
His long fantastic cry.
Here, silence too:
Only the long slow wash
Of the dull wave of Tiber's murmurous flood.
At times a far-off bell
Clangs,
And stillness comes again, as mists draw in.
Only the muffled voice
Of the wan, yellow, listless-moving stream—
And, hark, from yonder osteria, dim in shade,
The sudden, harsh, and dissonant jarring chords
Of a loose-strung guitar,
Twang'd idly for a few brief moments, e'er
The half-sung song grows drowsier, and still.
Only the long slow wash
87
At times a far-off bell
Clangs,
And stillness comes again, as mists draw in.
Only the muffled voice
Of the wan, yellow, listless-moving stream—
And, hark, from yonder osteria, dim in shade,
The sudden, harsh, and dissonant jarring chords
Of a loose-strung guitar,
Twang'd idly for a few brief moments, e'er
The half-sung song grows drowsier, and still.
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